Just a Floor Away
by ktfranceebee
Summary: By the time Fate caught up with Dave's and Kurt's life, Chance had it all planned. Future!Fic. Original Prompt: "Dave and Kurt meet up in the future (10 years), some big city and Dave is a ? and shares the same apartment building as Kurt, but they keep missing actually seeing each other. And then they do." Based upon a quote by Robert Brault. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

It was nineteen-past-two in the morning when the realization that he was finally finished struck him. It might have taken him months to complete, but it was a worthwhile process and one he never thought he would accomplish if it hadn't been for the one person who believed in him the most.

Dave breathed out an exhausted, if not elated, sigh. The kind of sigh that someone breathes after having learned that a loved one's surgery goes successfully; the kind of sigh preceded by a whoop and holler upon witnessing the final, winning touchdown, free throw, or the epic slide into home plate by the team one may have placed a particularly large bet on. It held all of the relief—all of the happiness and triumph—attributed to a feat once believed to be unachievable. After months of struggle of staring at a blank, white, wordless page… He finally did it.

Dave leaned forward in his desk chair, propping his chin up on his knuckles as he held the "up" key on the keyboard in front of him with his other hand. He watched as thousands upon thousands of lines consisting of black text blurred together as it flew across the screen. Once he reached the top of the very first page, he stared at the title. Or at least… Where the title _should_ be.

This story—_their _story—as long a tale to tell as it was did not give him nearly as much grief as the title. A few, simple words were all that was necessary. But the title needed to be eye-catching… Interesting. It needed to sum up the story concisely, but still prompt the reader to question its meaning until they were able to make a generous dent into its contents.

Dave clicked the end of the very first line as he watched the cursor blink tauntingly at him and then the door creaked behind him.

He didn't turn around. The small office was completely black, save for the ethereal glow from the laptop, but the ominous sound of the door hinge gave him no reason to be fearful, though it did result in him making a mental note to pick up some WD-40 the next time he went to the store.

Dave slipped off his reading glasses, laying them gently on the desk, as he heard the soft, weary shuffle of footsteps, as well as a sleepy yawn.

"Do you plan on coming to bed before the sun comes up, or do you plan on jerking off some more?"

Dave snorted, rubbing his eyes, which burned with exhaustion, as he leaned back in the swivel chair .

"Shut up. That was a long time ago. And you were sick for a week." He groaned in mortification upon remembering the embarrassing incident all too well.

"I'm not sick now," the voice purred, hands sliding down his chest to wrap around his neck. Lips that seemed to have no place of origin found themselves attached to his neck. Dave groaned as teeth gently nipped at his skin, traveling upward until the warm breath tickled his face and he could practically hear the bristling of the lips upon the scruff on his cheek in the stillness of the night.

"I'll have you know that I was very productive tonight," Dave feigned offense as he lifted a hand to clasp those wrapped securely around his neck, but had to stifle a gasp as one of the cold hands slipped out from under his grasp and slid past the hem of his collared shirt, the first three buttons having already been popped open from their shenanigans from much earlier that same evening.

"Really now?" The voice whispered in his ear.

Dave couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face, unseen by the man behind him.

"Kurt... I finished it."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The Newcomer in Room #603

**oOo**

"_Alas, by the time Fate caught up with my life, Chance __had it all planned." –Robert Brault_

**oOo**

**Friday, 10 August 2024**

The sun in the cloudless, afternoon sky was sweltering, reflecting dazzlingly off of the colossal New York City skyscrapers. The heat wave that year was one for the record books and it certainly wasn't doing any favors for one Kurt Hummel. Kurt never imagined he would yearn for winter to come that year, in toe with the dirty slush that accumulated in the gutters, below freezing temperatures, as well as his knee length sweaters that he still had stashed away on the uppermost shelf in his closet. That day, he opted for more functional rather than fashionable: a pair of frayed and tattered Capri pants, ratty, white slip-on Vans, and his Marc Jacobs, dip-dyed striped shirt. He felt as though he better resembled a rather _green_ college student rather than the editor of the world's most influential fashion magazine, but despite his casual attire, the weather was still too hot for the type of exertion his body had to endure. He tried not to be mindful of the bead of sweat that started to slide down the back of his neck and under his collar as he wavered on the spot, having picked up the cumbersome cardboard box that he managed to scoot and kick with his foot towards the edge of the rental moving truck.

After staggering towards the door to the apartment, Kurt let out a disgruntled moan as he attempted to stretch his hand over the enormous box topped with both the keys to the truck and the keys to his apartment on a separate ring. He wiggled his fingers futilely, hoping that at least one of the digits would come in contact with the metal handle of the door leading to the lobby entrance of his new apartment building, but no such luck. Instead, he merely teetered dangerously on the one foot he was standing on, as his other leg was bent upwards in order to support the weight of the box on his thigh and under his chin.

"Come on," Kurt muttered through gritted teeth, putting his foot back down on the concrete after adjusting his grip. Perhaps Rachel had been right when she said to hire movers. She even offered to send Finn down to help him with his things. But _no_, he said…_ He_ could handle it. After all, his new furniture had been delivered a few days earlier and now he just had to worry about his personal belongings.

Just as Kurt was about to give up and set the box down to open the door, he heard a voice and suddenly the door was opening on its own accord. He quickly backed away from the path of the door so he wouldn't get hit and he looked around in confusion.

"Judging by fact that you didn't notice the automatic door opener, I take it you're just moving in."

Kurt turned his head towards the pleasantly amused voice as he blew away the strands of hair that were falling into his eyes since having deflated from its hairstyle. Next to the pair of doors stood a women who couldn't have been that much older than him—thirty-six, at the most.

Being strictly into dick didn't keep him from appreciating how stunning she was, either, with her glowing, olive skin and gold-flecked, hazel eyes. Mahogany locks framed her thin, angular face and her sun-kissed bangs flew away from her shapely eyebrows.

"Here I thought it was the enormous box that gave me away," Kurt joked with a chuckle as he moved, gratefully, into the air conditioned lobby. He moved aside once he made it through the threshold. As she followed him in he added, "Or maybe the moving truck."

"Yeah, that would be it." She laughed along with him, her long but demure nose scrunching up before her mouth took the form of a circle and her eyes filled with concern.

"Do you need help with that?" She motioned towards the box. "It looks really heavy."

Kurt shook his head as he grimaced from the ache in his arms, but politely declined her offer.

"That's really kind of you, but I don't think you're dressed for moving boxes. I really appreciate it, though." Kurt glanced down at her long, cream-colored dress pants, flowy, floral shirt, and the fact that she was wearing shiny gold pumps. _'Manolo Blahniks,' _Kurt noted, practically drooling over the shoes. _'Very nice.'_

She would have been a head and a half shorter than Kurt if it wasn't for the five inches of heel added to her height, and he couldn't imagine how much easier it would be on him had she helped him with the box based on her sheer petitness alone, heels or not.

"But I would be incredibly grateful if you could get the elevator for me," he propositioned as they strode towards the elevator, her heels clicking smartly on the geometric tiled floor.

"Of course," the woman said, pressing the _up_ button between the two elevators. She looked at Kurt's undoubtedly disheveled complexion, but sympathetically rather than judgmentally. She let out another laugh as she took a step back from the shiny, silver doors.

"I um… Actually wasn't referring to _me_, though,"she spoke up. "I was going to say I could probably drag my cousin down to help you with your stuff. He's a big guy. Actually," she tapped her chin contemplatively. "I bet he would _jump_ at the chance to help you." The corners of her thin lips twitched upward, and Kurt wasn't sure what else to make of her comment, other than the fact that she must have been thinking of an inside joke.

"That's really sweet of you, but I'm sure I can manage." He shifted the box towards his left hip, allowing his right arm to rest. "So I take it you're just visiting?" Kurt asked, and the elevator chimed as the doors slid open.

"Yes. I live on the edge of town. I'm just here to see my cousin. He's on the seventh floor." For some reason she didn't press the number _7, _but asked, "What floor do you need?"

"Six, please," Kurt breathed thankfully, and she pressed the button.

As the elevator lurched to life, Kurt asked, attempting to make light conversation, "Have you and your cousin lived here long?"

"Oh, yes," the woman began to say. "Well… I lived in New York for as long as I can remember. But my cousin, though… He moved here and stayed with my family when he was about seventeen… eighteen…" She grimaced slightly. "School problems, y'know?"

"Ah," Kurt emitted, turning to stare back at his reflection over the box, and with a sigh he softly added, "If only we all were that lucky." His companion nodded sadly in understanding as he recalled his high school years. Though his seemed a bit brighter towards the end, he could only hope the same could be said about his companion's cousin as well.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened once more. Just as Kurt was about to thank her for her help, she stepped out with him.

"I can help you into your apartment, if you'd like? It's gotta be easier than you having to struggle with the box and your keys."

"You really don't have to," Kurt said apologetically, feeling guilty despite the fact that she was the one to offer her help. "I don't want to keep you."

"It's fine," she said assuredly, waving him off as they began to set off down the long hallway. She had a strange way at making Kurt feel better, making him feel relaxed and welcome, despite the fact that she wasn't a tenant of the building herself, and he had to wonder if this was a trait she used on a daily basis, such as in her career. "I'm sure he won't mind. Actually…" Whatever she wanted to say made her shake her head, reconsidering it. "No, never mind " Kurt looked at her curiously as they stopped in front of his door.

"What is it?"

The woman sighed. "No, no way. It sounds way too forward."

"Please," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "This is New York. If it doesn't involve a slap on the ass in a crowded subway then I think we can rule out _'forward'_."

"Okay," she sighed, as though knowing she would regret what she was about to say. "I was going to ask if you were seeing anybody."

"Um…" Kurt started, resisting the urge to laugh. He bit his lip instead. "I'm really flattered, and you're incredibly nice and gorgeous, but I'm interested in men."

"Oh… Oh, God, no…" she laughed, covering her mouth as she blushed. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned being 'forward' as I didn't mean for _me, _per se." She covered her face in her hands, flustered.

"I know you're gay… I mean… Wow, I really shouldn't have assumed though, but…" she sobered up, as she waved her left hand, showing off the ring on her finger.

"I'm married," she said. "I was actually referring to my cousin. He's um… Well. He's seeing somebody, but I'm sure had he met you months ago he would have ditched his asshole of a boyfriend in a heartbeat." Kurt suddenly realized what she meant and he felt his cheeks heat up. Never had anyone tried to set him up before, and by a stranger no less. "I'm always trying to set him up with someone new, since he has a terrible penchant for choosing guys who are completely wrong for him. You on the other hand… Somehow you manage to embody his "type" sans the stick up the ass. I can't really explain it. Something just tells me you two would really hit it off." When she noticed that they had been standing outside Kurt's apartment for an extended period of time, she pointed at the keys on top of the box.

"Are these your keys?"

Kurt looked at her a bit shell-shocked and dazed after her tirade. Shaking his head out of his reverie, he nodded, "The biggest one is to the apartment, and um…" He chortled as he half smiled and frowned, contemplating the compliment that was hidden in her little speech. "That's very… Generous of you?" he said, referring more to her proposal rather than to her wanting to open the door for him.

She laughed as she unlocked Kurt's door and pushed it open. When he entered the large living room area, he set the box down on the coffee table before turning to look at the woman standing in the foyer.

"I honestly don't think I'll be doing any dating or interfering in other peoples relationships for a long time. I actually just got out of a really long relationship, myself, and don't think I'm ready for any long—or even short term—commitments."

"Oh," a look of concern transposed her delicate features. "I'm really sorry. Do you mind me asking how long?"

Kurt sighed, smiling sadly. Her consideration was genuinely touching.

"December would have been eight years—got married right after he finished college. It was silly to say the least. I mean… We loved each other dearly through our entire marriage, but... It was all so very... _Tame_." He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at his pristine, white carpet.

"And I know what you're thinking, that once the "honeymoon" phase…" he uncrossed his arms to make air quotes before opening the box. It was filled with every issue of Vogue since Isabelle's retirement, every issue that he had been in charge of since taking her place as executive."…dies down and real life starts to set in, that's what love and marriage is about, but…" he laughed cynically, "We never even had a honeymoon phase, to tell you the truth. My honeymoon phase involved nipping at his heels until he finally noticed me. So here we are, thirty years old and as frigid as a couple in their eighties and we knew…" His voice waved slightly as he drew in a breath, but he smiled all the same. "We could tell we were only perpetuating our unhappiness by holding each other back from finding true…" he trailed off, looking up as if he had forgotten where he was. "I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear all this. I don't even know your name."

"It's fine. It probably feels good to get it off of your chest. My name's Evelyn, by the way." She held out her hand and Kurt gripped it briefly in his. She smiled sympathetically. "You're a nice guy." She shrugged. "It was worth a shot. Anyways, I better get going."

"Oh, right. Thank you so much again for helping me, Evelyn. I appreciate it," Kurt said, walking to the door. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

"I'd like to think so. You take care," she waved slightly before shutting the door behind her.

The smile on Kurt's face lingered even after Evelyn was gone. Kurt was happy to have met such a kind and pleasant women and couldn't help but wonder whether her cousin would be the same way.

Kurt sat down on the arm of the white leather couch. Maybe he should have asked Evelyn her cousin's apartment number. He was new in the large building, after all. It would have been nice to stop by and introduce himself, at least. He did move from Chelsea to the apartment situated right alongside the Hudson River. It was a completely new neighborhood, to him, and he could always go for some recommendations for restaurants and markets. What harm would asking Evelyn for her cousin's apartment number do?

Kurt stood up from the couch and strode to the door.

"Evelyn, I…" Kurt called as he poked his head out of the door, hoping he could still catch her, but she was already gone. With hint of a regretful smile lingering upon his lips, Kurt slipped out into the hall, keys in hand, to return back downstairs to move the rest of the boxes into his new apartment, and with the hope that nobody had thought to steal any of his belongings out of the back of the moving truck.

**oOo**

Inside apartment #703, the sound of the curt knock upon the door floated all the way past the foyer and into the en suite bathroom where Dave Karofsky stood in front of the mirror. He stayed where he was, brushing his teeth slowly as the knocking resumed and at a rapid, if not impatient, pace.

He huffed before spitting the minty foam into the sink, and craned his neck out of the open bathroom door.

"S'open!" he called as he picked up a disposable cup. He turned on the water, rinsing off the brush and the toothpaste in the sink before filling the cup with water. As he took a sip to swish, he heard the door open.

"We're going to be late!" A sing-song voice called, needing no introduction. Dave snorted as he spit the water out, and he heard the door close. After wiping his face off on the hand towel, he strode out of the bathroom, through his bedroom, and into the living room.

"Who's fault is that?" Dave intoned, fixing his lapels. "How do I look?"

"Handsome as ever, Davey." Evelyn Karofsky-O'Brien teased as her cousin held out his arms to his side so that she could inspect his grey suit and his white dress shirt with the first few buttons popped open. He figured that he might as well continue to wear his expensive suits despite quitting his job. There weren't many other places he could wear them besides lunch with Evelyn, or else dinner parties with his boyfriend, and he'd hate for them to go to waste. "Though you do know it's about one-hundred degrees out there?"

"Ninety-two," Dave said simply as he grabbed his wallet and keys off of the counter. "I checked the news. Besides, it's a special occasion."

"Really?" Evelyn asked, sounding genuinely surprised as though she might have forgotten a birthday or an anniversary of some sort. "And what might that be?"

"The fact that I hardly get to see you anymore."

"Mm," Evelyn hummed as she turned up her nose slightly. "Well, maybe if you-know-who didn't make it so difficult. He's not here, is he?" She narrowed her eyes as she craned her neck as if looking for someone to emerge from the bedroom.

"No, he's not. Left about half an hour ago," Dave said, as he placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the apartment. When they were out in the hall, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot. The effect, which was meant to be stern, was lost when the sole of her foot was muted upon the plush carpet, which was unlike that of the lobby floor downstairs.

"Now I wonder why that could be?"

"Ev… Come on," Dave said weakly as he locked the door behind him. "Can we just have _one_ afternoon together where we don't discuss why Travis is somehow worse than my last ten boyfriends," he paused before adding with emphasis, "Who you _also_ didn't like!"

"I know he doesn't like me, I just haven't figured out why yet."

"I don't know… Maybe it's because you let slip in conversation that you weren't a fan of Frank Lloyd Wright's designs," he started on a tirade as they made their way towards the elevator, "You know how he is when it comes to architecture. It's his life."

"I did _not_ say that," Evelyn pointed out, giving him a dangerous look as she pointed a finger. "I said that I wasn't a fan of his utilization of low-pitched roofs."

"Fine. Then maybe it's because you try to set me up on dates with the younger male nurses at the hospital."

"And God knows I try," she said, softening up a bit, as if trying a different approach to get through to Dave. She patted his arm. "I miss this. Hanging out with you like when we were teenagers."

"Me too, Ev," Dave said, smiling fondly as he pressed the _down_ button once they made it to the elevator. Dave was quiet for a handful of seconds before speaking up.

"I'm pretty sure he was annoyed that I locked myself up in the office all day," he mentioned quietly as the doors eventually dinged open. Evelyn glanced at the back of his head in understanding as he stepped into the little box. He held the side so it didn't close on her as she stepped in.

"How's the writing going?" she asked, already knowing what he was referring to. Her eyes were wide and curious as she judged his reaction.

"You mean my futile attempts at brainstorming as I stare at a blank page?" Dave turned his head, smiling sardonically before answering his own question. "Superb."

"You'll get there, David. It just takes time. It's only been a week since you left _The Times_. And switching from sports articles to novels?" She shook her head. "That can't be easy."

"I'm a writer, though," Dave groaned exasperatedly. "That would be like you going on vacation and not remembering how to operate on a person when you go back to work. I studied _Literature_ and _Creative Writing_. It can't be that difficult." He tilted his head back, letting it _thonk_ against the metal confines of the elevator. "I just need to find a topic-something that I'm really passionate about-and then it'll be smooth sailing from there."

As the elevator doors opened, Evelyn attempted to lighten the topic as she felt Dave's frustration emanating off of him.

"_So_, there's a new guy moving in," Evelyn said nonchalantly as she inspected her nails.

"Really? You meet him?"

"Mmhm," she hummed in affirmation, now smoothing down her top. "He's cute."

"Here we go," Dave groaned.

"And _available_," she added and Dave could practically hear the plea in her voice.

"Well, how do you know he's...? Oh God..." Dave groaned, rolling his head. "You can't just go around asking everybody their sexual orientation, Ev.

"I didn't," she said a little too defensively as she blushed. "He told me. He just got out of a long relationship though, poor thing."

"That's too bad. So I guess he said he wasn't ready to get back on that dating horse, then. Pity," Dave tutted as he shook his head with mocking sadness.

"Could you at least explain to me exactly what it is you and Trav-_ass _have in common?"

Dave was silent for a moment, mulling over the request as he rolled up his sleeves, getting ready to brace himself for the furnace that was outside.

"We both enjoy getting off." He nodded with a frown, as though agreeing with his own answer.

"Jesus, you're such a male," she said with a huff as she strode in front of him to pull open the door. She heard Dave chuckling to himself behind her as she walked out of the lobby and into the searing heat. It was like a hot blow dryer turned itself on right in front of their faces.

"So, half of his stuff is at your apartment..." she mused, digging her sunglasses out of her purse. "Can we expect a happy announcement soon?"

"Don't count on it," Dave muttered sternly, and Evelyn didn't say anything else about the matter.

"Oh," she stopped short and Dave nearly ran into her. "He's inside the moving truck, come on. You should go talk to him. Introduce yourself to him, at least."

Dave looked in the direction of the truck as he tilted his head, squinting his eyes from the light as he attempted to make out the shape of the person in the back of the truck. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in fascination as he saw the outline of a person, facing away from him and bending over, sifting through a box. He couldn't help but admire the view.

"Ev, we're gonna be late for our reservations," Dave said, shaking his head to pull himself out of his daze. Dave glanced at his watch before raising his hand and hailing a cab before Evelyn could say anything else on the matter. "I'm sure there will be other opportunities. He is moving in, after all. What did you say his name was?" Dave asked patiently, holding the door open for Evelyn, who frowned sadly, looking in the direction of truck.

"I didn't," she said despondently as she climbed into the back of the cab. "I forgot to ask him."

"Ah." Dave climbed in after her. He almost wished she had gotten the name of the unnamed tenant, just for curiosity's sake. After he shut the door, he gave the name of the restaurant to the cabbie and they drove off just as Kurt Hummel hopped down out of the back of the truck with yet another box, and went back into the lobby once more and without the struggle, having pressed the automatic door opener with his knowledge gained from the help of his new friend.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Butterfingers: Not Just a Candy Bar

**oOo**

**Monday, 28 October 2024**

The two months since that hot August day when Kurt moved into his new apartment flew by, and he was pleased how his new place was beginning to feel like home. He truly felt as though he had been given - had given himself - a fresh start.

All of his magazines and books had been placed neatly on his bookshelf. His furniture had been arranged and rearranged multiple times until he eventually decided that the couch looked much nicer in the middle of the vast living room rather than pushed against the far right wall. His hair products nearly covered the entire counter top in his bathroom, though it was strange not seeing Blaine's preferred brand of gel placed next to his hairspray anymore. Despite this leaving him with a small twinge of sadness, he was not as lonely as he expected himself to be. He quickly realized how he was used to feeling alone in their relationship—at least after their marriage. It was hard _not_ to be when he spent so much time at the office during his early years at _Vogue_, hoping his work ethic and ambition would quickly get him to the top—and it did. Blaine, on the other hand, had been busy taking classes, working on achieving his Master's in Psychology. But he couldn't say he felt any regret. They were both busy achieving their dreams, and the fact that they were able to travel that road together would mean a bond that few others could only dream of. They would always be friends; and for that, Kurt was grateful.

Since moving into the new apartment, a brisk chill had finally overtaken the awful heat, and Kurt exchanged his laid back summer attire for toasty scarves and warm, woolen mittens, as well as his beloved fitted sweaters. The trees completed their seasonal transformation. From his window, Kurt could see how all of the leaves on the trees in the park across the street had adopted their rustic, fiery hues, and along with the changing of the season came the festive decorations. Pumpkins, carved far too early, sat atop building stoops like decaying heads with appalled expressions, seemingly caving in upon themselves, and the pumpkins still available at the _Foodex _down the block were as scarce as they were of superior quality, as all the good ones had already been purchased, leaving the shrunken and misshapen rejects looking more like butternut squashes at the bottom of the container.

_Vogue Magazine_ had undergone a bit of a makeover as well, trading in swimsuits and short-shorts for a more modest and cozy look and feel. Kurt was now diving headfirst into reviewing articles on hot fall color combinations, the best ways to pair boots and heels with jeans and pantyhose, as well as the dreaded winter, fashion faux pas such as the _Snuggie_ and the _Forever Lazy_.

Halloween, he realized, was just three days away and he still needed to buy candy for the trick-or-treaters. While the number of knocks on the door from children dressed up as superheroes, witches, and monsters was slim at his old apartment, he did not know what to expect here at his new one, so it was best he was prepared.

On his way home from work, he stopped at Foodex to pick up a bag of candy or two. And as he meandered up and down the candy aisle, humming along with the soft music playing over the speakers, he could hear a man talking.

What Kurt thought was someone talking to the cashier was actually a one-sided conversation of the person talking on the phone. He stopped his humming as he couldn't help but eavesdrop upon what was being said - or rather _how_ it was being said. The man was talking loud enough, after all, and his voice was able to maintain a soothing calmness despite the fact that he was raising it in what seemed to be an attempt to placate the individual on the other end. But what truly made him stop was how he felt like he heard that voice before.

"…dad would have wanted me to be happy. I'm finally doing what I want to do."

Kurt frowned, narrowing his eyes as he picked up a large bag of candy, listening carefully.

"_Yes_, I got the salmon."

Kurt remembered all too well what it was like having someone to bicker with over petty things. He had planned on getting a bag of a mixed variety candy, the kind with Butterscotch disks because, and for whatever reason, he started to develop and affinity for them over the years, even keeping them at his desk in his office at Vogue. He could understand children's hatred towards them, of course, what with their hard texture and simple flavor, but he could save them for himself and give the other candies away. If he was still with Blaine, he would have been asked to bring home some Reese's, or else be asked why he liked that "gross candy that could only be found in the bottom of old ladies purses", and then he would state that Reese's were simply the cheapest variety of milk chocolate holding together a cloud of peanut butter dust.

"Yup, got it."

Kurt could hear the man's voice traveling up the aisle next to him until he was able to faintly pick it up from where it floating through the quiet store from the checkout counter. Finally, and with his curiosity getting the better of him, Kurt randomly grabbed two large bags of fun-size M&M's and Butterfingers in each.

"No, Travis. I just thought you were going to do the honey mustard marinade like last time."

Kurt saw the man standing in front of the cashier - just his back, as the rest of him was blocked by the closed register - but he was tall and wide, especially in comparison to himself. He wore a black sweatshirt and had a navy blue beanie on his head, obviously to protect himself from the frigid night air. Kurt blinked. It was a big city their were in. Maybe they had classes together years ago at SUNY Community College. Judging by his attire, however, Kurt had little reason to believe this man could have taken any fashion courses. As he made his way up to the only open register, and between to two closed ones as the man was handing his money to the cashier, before turning to rest his elbow in what looked like irritation on the little counter used to write checks.

"Then just season it with salt and pepper, then! Jesus, f… I'm sorry." Kurt heard the man say softly to the cashier lady as he held out a large hand and accepted the money and his receipt, stuffing it into his pocket before pulling up the hood to his sweater to shield his face from the cold and taking the two or three bags of groceries and walking through the automatic, gliding doors.

**o0o**

"Hello?" Dave intoned, after pressing the button to his Bluetooth. When he heard the voice on the other end he automatically wished he had checked to see who was calling before answering the phone.

"_Where are you?"_

"Oh, hey, Trav." He chimed with mock enthusiasm. "I'm just about to leave the store right now.

"_You were home all day. Why couldn't you go earlier?"_

"Because I was busy."

"_Did you get anything done today?" _What was he? His mother?

"No, Travis, but I did clean up the mess you made from your party the night before."

Dave heard a sigh on the other line.

"_I was going to take care of that tonight. Dave, how long do you think this is going to take? We've got bills to pay. I know I make more than enough to cover rent, but there's also money for leisure… Utilities." _Dave knew Travis was referring to the grandiose parties he enjoyed hosting, as well as his so called business trips that Dave knew involved more "play" than "work".

"Well, what do you want me to do? Dip into my dad's life insurance?" Dave brought this up only because he knew it would piss Travis off. He had already spent a chunk of the money on bills, but that was hardly able to put a dent in the large sum of money left to him by his father, not that Travis knew how much he had received anyway. He did know that Travis was more concerned about the money that he would be no longer making since quitting his job at the New York Times. "I enjoyed my old job, Travis. But my dad would have wanted me to be happy. I'm finally doing what I want to do."

"_Yeah, okay."_ Travis said a little bit impatiently. _"We'll talk about it when you get home. Did you pick up the stuff for dinner?"_

"Yes, I got the salmon."

"_And the farm-raised variety, right? You know I don't like that mercury filled crap."_

"Yup, got it," Dave lied. He would just throw the packaging out before Travis could see it.

"_And did you get the lemon-pepper rub?"_

"No, Travis. I just thought you were going to do the honey mustard marinade like last time."

"_Well, I _would, _but that would involve the use of a grill and a cedar plank. The last time I made that was at my old place. And last I checked, we're living in your god-awful apartment, Dave."_

"Then just season it with salt and pepper, then! Jesus, f…" Dave practically shouted before turning off the Bluetooth device.

He and Travis were about to go onto to their seventh month of dating, and he couldn't help but wonder when it got so bad. They argued over the smallest things practically every day. He was inclined to believe the bickering and constant disagreement only began to escalate nearly three months ago when he first gave his two weeks' notice at the New York Times, but who was he kidding. It was like their relationship thrived on the fact that they didn't get along. They would fight, one of them would walk out, come back once they both cooled off, and then the angry make-up sex would somehow compensate for the fact that they were almost constantly at each other's throats. It wasn't a relationship, they were in. It was a Civil War, if only Grant and Lee had been fucking each other.

He often thought about what his cousin told him. He and Travis really had no business being in a relationship with one another. Certainly there was an attraction there, but they really had nothing in common. He felt selfish, most of the time—staying in a relationship purely for the amazing sex. But at the same time, he knew Travis was married to his work. While Dave looked forward to the idea of settling down and maybe having a kid or two, that was not the life Travis wanted. But at least the only person he was hurting was himself, and Dave knew that there would be a time when the right person would come along.

**o0o**

"How you doin' tonight, hon?" Kurt heard the woman ask as he stared out into the darkness framed by the doors and that was when he saw the small strip of paper standing out starkly against the black mat in front of the entrance.

"Oh, um…" Kurt muttered distractedly as he set the candy on the conveyor belt. He glanced at the woman before giving her an apologetic smile.

"That man just dropped something." He knew it could only be a receipt, but he moved away from the register despite this. "Can you hold onto these for just a moment? I'll be right back." He patted the bags. The women smiled at him gently, and nodded. There was no one else in line, and the brightly lit store was practically devoid of customers, as no one wanted to go to the store so late and after getting off of work. So he strode to the door, picking up the paper before going out into the cold.

There he was. With help from the dingy, yellow glow of the streetlights, Kurt could see the outline of his broad shoulders as well as the white plastic shopping bags dangling from a thick arm before disappearing completely as he shut the door to the cab he was getting in.

"Wait, you forgot your…" Kurt shouted out futilely, waving the receipt. The streetlights caught the wisp of his breath floating in the air as he came to a stop, standing lamely on the sidewalk as his arm dropped heavily to his side.

He knew the disappointment he felt as the cab drove away - pulling out onto 64th St. and leaving nothing behind except a cloud of exhaust from the bad muffler - had more to do with the fact that his curiosity would not be fulfilled rather than not being able to return the useless scrap of paper to its original owner.

Kurt sighed in defeat as he crumpled up the flimsy piece of paper into a wad in the palm of his hand and tossed it into the trash bin right outside the market's doors as he went back inside, never sparing it a glance to see the words _Foodex VIP Club Member: David Karofsky_ printed near the top, nor the great deal of money he could have saved on frozen Atlantic Salmon.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Lions and Twinks and Bears

**o0o**

Thursday, 31 October 2024

The kettle on the stove let out its high-pitched whistle signaling Kurt, curled up under a fleece blanket with the full bowl of Halloween candy, watching reruns of _America's Next Top Model_, to get off of the couch. He pushed the blanket away and padded barefoot into the kitchen. As warm as his cozy pajamas were, the hardwood floor, however, was frigid upon the soles of his feet when he transitioned from the fluffy rug to the hard floor.

Avoiding the jet of steam being expelled from the spout, he turned off the burner to the stove and picked up the kettle by the handle to pour the boiling liquid over the little bag of pomegranate-chamomile tea.

He couldn't begin to feel guilty or lame for staying in. He might have been editor-in-chief at Vogue, but his colleagues, more so than him, were avid pursuers of the nightclub scene. Now that he was in his thirties, he had quickly grown out of pretending he was having a good time in a loud room full of people he didn't know. There was nothing wrong with a bit of self-indulgent _me time_, especially when he had to handle a team of people every day. He was perfectly content with spending the evening in, just being lazy after a long day at work, with a relaxing cup of tea followed by a lavender and sea salt bath.

It was a shame, though, how he hadn't received any trick-or-treaters that evening. Not that he was really expecting any - especially in such a high-end apartment like the one he recently moved into. Most of the people here were like him: successful business people, wealthy execs, maybe a performer or actor here and there who happened to travel a lot and is in need of a quiet and discrete, yet discerning and comfortable, place to stay. While young kids were not completely nonexistent in the building, from what he had seen, the tenets of the building who were parents were those with babies and toddlers, as the spacious apartments were efficient for starting families, but not quite enough room for those expecting more little pitter-patters of tiny feet in the future.

The biggest travesty, however, how he would have to eat all the candy by himself, and he knew that wouldn't do him (or his ass) any favors considering his sedentary job. He figured he could compromise by going to the gym, which he had forgotten was on the eighth floor. But just as he was about to get the bottle of honey out of the cabinet, he had to change his mind about resorting to eating the candy himself as he heard a knock at the door.

Kurt frowned as he turned around, glancing at the analog clock on the microwave. It was a quarter past nine and he didn't think parents would want their children out trick-or-treating so late and on a school night.

Kurt replaced the kettle on top of the stove as he walked to the door, picking up the bowl of candy on the way, just in case. He squinted through the peephole to find two distorted figures standing outside his door dressed up as Batman and Catwoman. Kurt knew immediately who it was despite their faces being concealed. He shook his head in amusement as he moved away from the door, setting the bowl on the table.

Kurt opened the door, the latch still in place, to take a peek out into the hall. The taller one didn't look all that amused in his tight, gray and black outfit, cape, and yellow utility belt à la Adam West. He had his arms crossed snugly in front of him. The tinier woman was clad in a skin-tight, black leather outfit reminiscent of Nicole Kidman's Catwoman, and she was practically bouncing up and down in excitement. Both of them, however, were much too old to be trick-or-treating.

"I'm not being robbed am I?" Kurt asked, chortling.

"Kurt!" The woman pulled her mask off and cascades of thick, black hair fell down, framing her beaming face, revealing the identity of one Rachel Hudson neé Berry.

"Surprise!" she burst, her arms held out jubilantly.

"Hold on," Kurt rang out in a sing-song voice as he shut the door on them and removed the latch. When he opened the door once more, it was to have Rachel launching herself at him, squealing. He hugged her back in equal enthusiasm, if not a hint of shock.

"Oh, wow... Hi!" he said brightly as she finally let him go, but his face betrayed his concern. He considered the possibility of a motive behind their surprise arrival. "If I knew you two were going to drop by, I would have made myself a little more decent." He looked down at his red and black fleece pajama pants and his fitted long sleeve shirt.

"You're fine. We haven't seen the new place yet. We thought we'd surprise you. Right, Finn?" she turned her head towards her husband in the threshold who looked away stubbornly.

"Right," he agreed like a reprimanded child.

"Hello, Finn," Kurt said lightly acknowledging his younger, but definitely not smaller, step-brother. Finn clapped his shoulder briefly in greeting. "What's wrong with him?" Kurt asked, turning to Rachel this time.

"He's mad he couldn't go trick-or-treating." Rachel looked at him disapprovingly as he hovered over the candy bowl still filled to the brim. Rachel moved in towards the living room with Kurt, who turned off the television.

Rachel walked around the apartment, examining the chandelier in the shape of a star burst, which he hung above the round kitchen table as well as the inky-skyline and city lights visible just beyond the windows.

"You've outdone yourself, Kurt. The place looks amaz—Finn!" she cut herself off. "If you get sick later from overdosing on sugar and alcohol, I will not be held responsible." She pointed a stern finger in his direction.

"Yeah, yeah." Finn waved her off as he picked up a bag of M&Ms and tore the paper with his teeth before pouring the contents in his hand.

"Are you guys on your way back from a party?" Kurt asked curiously, crossing his arms as Rachel sat down on his couch and primly crossed her legs.

"Actually..." Rachel dragged out, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "We're on our way _to_ a party."

It didn't take Kurt long to understand what she was implying, and he backed away slowly, shaking his head.

"No. No way are you dragging to me to some costume party and... Getting me drunk and what not. No thank you. I have to go to work tomorrow."

"Oh, come on, Kurt. It's one night of your life," Rachel whined standing up. Even her sleek, black stilettos couldn't bring her to Kurt's height. "It'll be fun. And it's not a costume party _per se._ It's at a bar. Please? For me?"

Rachel gave him her best dejected look, fluttering her eyelashes, which were thick with mascara. Kurt saw the tears welling up in her tear ducts and he unfolded his arms, letting them drop to his sides in defeat.

"Damn you, Rachel Berry and your ability to cry on cue," he stated ruefully. Rachel immediately looked pleased and she clapped her hands together knowing that she had been able to make Kurt cave.

"But I didn't buy a new costume this year," Kurt mentioned, turning around to face her once more after starting on his way to the bedroom. He thought it could provide him with one last excuse as to why he would be unable to go out with them. "Everything I have here I've already worn."

"Please," she waved him off dismissively. "Do you honestly think Finn hasn't worn his costume before?" Finn looked up quickly, his mouth full of Butterfinger and he shook his head in warning.

"But I've never seen Finn wear that befo... _Oh!_" A look of horror and realization distorted his features and he clapped his hands over his ears as Rachel blushed furiously. "Ew! No! I don't want to know about your guy's freaky sex life. _No._" He walked out of the room just as Rachel threw her mask at him.

"Go get dressed, Kurt!"

**o0o**

They left ten minutes later once Kurt dressed. The three of them hailed and climbed into the back of a taxi much to the cabbie's amusement, having to pull over and pick up an overgrown Batman, Catwoman, and Kurt dressed opposite of Natalie Portman as V, himself, from _V for Vendetta_. It was a good thing he was able to find his sai swords to complete the outfit, along with his mask and wig, which were all hiding in one of his boxes in the back of his closet that he hadn't bothered to unpack – boxes that were all labeled miscellaneous, high school, or college - all things that he couldn't bear to throw away but didn't serve much purpose aside from sentimental value.

When the three of them arrived at their destination—much to Finn's relief after complaining that Kurt's sword kept sticking his in his side—the first thing Kurt noticed was that the sign over the establishment said _HEatwave_, and the second being that the ridiculously long line went completely around the building, blocked off by red, velvet ropes, containing all the costumed partygoers. Kurt grimaced. It didn't take much convincing for Rachel to get him out of the house, but he didn't think he would have to wait in a line all night.

"Rachel, this place is ridiculously busy," he said, his voice muffled by his mask as he followed Rachel down the sidewalk to the front of the line.

"Just hold on a second," Rachel said as she literally catwalked toward the bouncer who was letting the people in. Kurt sighed, knowing exactly what she was going to do. He watched as she pulled her ID out of her tight sleeve and flashed it at the colossal bouncer. He automatically lifted the velvet rope away to let her through. When the bouncer attempted to stop Kurt and Finn from following her, she spoke up.

"They're with me," she said brightly, and he nodded in understanding, allowing Kurt and Finn to follow her through into the deafening club.

"What a blatant abuse of power," Kurt huffed once they were inside. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he looked around at his surroundings.

"Hey, it's not like I'm the President of the United States," she said defensively, placing her hands on her tiny waist. Finn placated her by placing his hand on top of hers and pecking the top of her leather mask.

"My wife, the Broadway star," he said fondly and she looked up at him through her eyelashes with adoring eyes. When Finn spared a glance around the club, looking at the occupants clogging the vast dance floor, bar, and tables, he frowned. "There sure are a lot of guys here." He pointed out.

Kurt noticed the same thing. There was not one person in the club not wearing a costume of some sort. He spotting one particularly ripped guy at the bar wearing a fake mane of sorts, a detachable lion tale and ears. He noticed a couple of John Travolta - _Grease -_ lookalikes, with their slick, oily black hair and leather jackets, and even a Doctor Frank-N-Furter, heels and all. But the one thing everyone had in common was the obvious fact that they were all, well,_ male._

"Is this a gay bar?" Finn perked up, mildly impressed with himself that it took him that long to realize the estrogen that was lacking in the room.

Kurt, however, was not pleased.

"Rachel..." he said in a dangerously low growl."I know what you're doing and _no_, I'm not interested in hooking up with anybody." He raised his mask away from his face.

"Kurt, it's been _two_ months. Almost three." Kurt rolled his eyes. "I just thought you would like to go out as a free man, maybe meet some people. I mean, Finn and I are married. You're single. What would be a better place to spend a night out?" Kurt lowered his mask, shaking his head wearily.

"I need a drink."

They squeezed between some guys at the bar, and he flashed his ID, the bartender barely glancing at it as he and ordered a Lemon Drop. Beside him, Rachel wrung her hands out in front of herself anxiously.

"Well, at least let me pay for it?" She asked, sounding genuinely apologetic for striking the wrong chord. "I know you think we're just trying to help you move on from Blaine, but there was another reason that I wanted to take you out tonight."

"And what's that?" Kurt asked turning towards her expectantly.

"I'm pregnant."

Kurt burst out laughing, throwing his head back so that his hat nearly fell off.

"Right. You're pregnant so we go to a gay bar. That makes perfect sense." When he looked back at Rachel she smiled meekly and his expression underneath his mask changed to one of incredulity.

"Holy _crap_. You're serious?" he demanded, tearing his mask off once more. She nodded.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "Well, what the hell are we doing here, then? You can't _drink_."

"I know that." It was her turn to roll her eyes. "I wanted to spend one last night with you before... Well..." She started to get choked up and Kurt knew she wasn't acting this time. "It's not like we'll be able to see each other as often once the baby is born. Besides, I doubt I'll ever be able to fit into this thing again." She looked down at her body suit miserably

"Rachel, honey… No..." Kurt's demeanor changed immediately as he reached out and took her hands in his. "This is a beautiful thing. You're going to be a mom. Have you any idea how _amazing_ that is? You and Finn are giving life to something other than an incredible duet," she gave him a watery smile as she looked down at their hands shyly. "And I, for one, can't wait to see what a Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson baby grows up to be." He gave her hands a squeeze.

Rachel sniffled before practically crying out, "I'm going to be a mom!" as if she just made the connection then and she covered her mouth. Rachel laughed, as Kurt squeezed her carefully to him, suddenly mindful of her tummy."

"No, you're going to be a great one." They stayed in each other's comforting and friendly embrace, the only noises being the liveliness of the occupants in the room surround them. "God, I can't believe it," he breathed, before letting out a squeak and pulling away her quickly, holding her shoulders at arm's length.

"I'm going to be an uncle!" His eyes were wide in realization and Rachel nodded enthusiastically. When he let go, she wiped underneath her eyes, fixing her makeup.

"What about Finn? Does he know?" he asked excitedly.

"Not yet," Rachel said guiltily. "I thought I'd give him one last night of freedom before he has to dote on me and the baby. I'm going to tell him in the morning. I already told Dads the other day, but I was still kind of nervous about telling Finn. What if something happens? What if he gets called back into the service? And obviously I will be on pregnancy leave soon. I don't remember the scene in _Wicked_ where Elphaba gets pregnant." She gnawed on her lip nervously. Kurt laughed, imaging the plot twist of a pregnant Rachel being suspended in the air while belting out the verses during the dramatic climax in _Defying Gravity._

"Sweetie, I know there is always a chance that something could happen to send Finn back overseas, but whatever happens at least you'll know that you have me, your parents, Carole, my dad… We're all here for you. Okay? And I'm sorry for getting upset before. I know you're just worried about me since the divorce. But I'll be fine." He gave her a reassuring smile. "If anything was wrong, you would be the first to know."

"Yeah," she sighed and Kurt could visibly see her relax, her shoulders lowering considerably. "Speaking of Finn, though, I'm pretty sure he was dragged onto the dance floor by a drag queen. I'll be right back, okay? I'm just gonna go see if I can find him."

"Be careful," Kurt shouted as he watched her walk away. When he turned back to the bar, he was handed his martini by the bartender. He accepted it, mouthing a _thank you_, and he stared into its contents happy to think about the future of Hudson-Berry family and what it would be like to be an uncle—that is, until he felt an unwelcome hand upon his waist.

**o0o**

Dave scratched at his thick, fake beard and adjusted the Baby Bjorn carrier, that he borrowed from Evelyn, containing the fake baby strapped to his chest as he followed Travis into the club. They didn't have to wait in line, considering the club itself belonged to a friend of Travis's.

Travis stayed farther up ahead of Dave as they weaved in and out of the people in the club, and Dave wasn't oblivious to the fact that Travis was doing a good job at putting some distance between the two of them. While he looked silly in his own garb, Travis looked elegant in his tux and silver and black masquerade mask—like he was about to attend a ball. He wasn't sure why Travis invited him to go out with his architect friends when he couldn't even stand within three feet within each other's vicinity. Not that he really cared. He didn't have anything in common with Travis's snobbish colleagues, so when he noticed that Travis spotted his friends on the opposite side of the bar, Dave inconspicuously took his wrist so that he turned around.

"You go ahead," he said. "It's a bit crowded on that end. I'll just hang out over here."

Travis gave him a curious look, but then shrugged.

"If you insist," he said, and as soon as Dave let go if him he was walking away. Dave sighed, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous in his fluffy auburn wig and fake beard. Travis knew that he was a bit of a nerd and Dave wasn't sure why he would invite him if he was embarrassed by him. After all, _The Hangover, _and particularly Zach Galifianakis's character, was practically the epitome of pop-culture when he was a teenager, and if Dave was going to be dragged to some club when he could be at home writing, then he would, at least, dress up as something he liked and not care about what other people thought about him. He did enough of that in high school.

Just as he was about to order himself a beer, he could hear a raised voice down along the bar a few feet away from him and he couldn't help but listen in.

**o0o**

"Hey, sweetheart." Kurt jerked his head towards the space where Rachel was just standing to see the an overly cocky face smirking at him.

"Can I help you?" Kurt snarled, taking the wrist and removing it forcefully from his body. He shook his head before shifting his body away from the man.

"Aw, come on. Don't be like that." Kurt glared through the slits in the mask as the twink had the nerve to reach across him, moving in closer. There was no way he could have been older than twenty-four, and Kurt wondered if he would be as insistent in his conquest if he knew he was, at least, five years older than him.

_Probably._

"Come on, baby."Why don't you take that mask off?" The poor excuse of an _Indiana Jones_ look-a-like was practically feeling up on him. Kurt cringed, trying to shift away from the creep, but finding himself unable to budge due to how crowded the bar was. The other customers behind him were holding him in place. Kurt couldn't help but think of the situation as ironic as he began feeling increasingly uncomfortable, the air in the room in his mask growing thin and himself, light headed._ V_ was supposed to be such a heroic character.

He couldn't even save himself.

**o0o**

Dave couldn't help but wonder why the other man didn't try to defend himself with the swords attached to his hip.

"No." The man's protests were becoming weaker as Dave's heart continued to thud faster in pure rage.

"Come on, why don't we go play our own version of trick-or-treat in the bathroom. You open up, and I'll give you my sweets."

Dave gritted his teeth as he felt a churning in his gut as he saw the unmasked man's hand dip lower from where it was sitting on the other man's waist and, despite not being able to see the other man's features, he noticed a slight tremor of revolt go through him. Without thinking, Dave pushed himself away from the bar and strode the short distance him and the two men. He decided that he had seen enough.

"Hey," he said, sneaking up behind the guy and placing his hand on his shoulder spinning him around. "Why don't you beat it, buddy, obviously the guy's not interested."

Once the surprise on the twink's face died away, he cocked his head disinterestedly as his eyes slid up and down Dave's body, taking in the tight, belted white bell-bottom pants, grey and pink shirt, the fake, plastic baby doll strapped to his chest and, finally, the sunglasses and fake wig and beard.

"Can I help you, asshole?"

"No, but you can leave my date alone for one." The guy seemed shocked, and Dave was pretty sure if he could see the other man's face, he would be shocked too.

"You're with this guy?" The prick turned back to the man dressed completely in black and jabbed a thumb behind him towards Dave. When he made no effort to disagree with him, the blonde scoffed, shaking his head before leaving, muttering something about _horrible tastes._

Dave watched as the man disappeared into the crowd. He didn't have any reason to believe that he would be back, but for some reason, he stayed close to the man… _V._

"Zach Galifianakis… My _hero_." Dave heard the man breathe in a swoon. And then seriously, "Thank you. You really didn't have to do that."

"It's fine," Dave shrugged. "Just because we're in a gay bar doesn't mean it's a free for all. Obviously that guy was out of line."

"I hope you didn't just say you were my date because you were expecting something from me?" he intoned suspiciously. He tilted his head so that the straight stands of hair from the wig sway against the mask. The person in the mask had a high, almost haughty voice, and he couldn't help but be entranced by it.

"No, of course not… That is, unless, you allow me to buy you another drink? He could have put something in yours. It's better to be safe than sorry."

"That would be exceedingly kind of you." Dave could almost hear the smile in the man's voice. His eyes flicked over the man's shoulder to the opposite side of the bar. He spotted Travis, being his usual charismatic and suave self as he hammed it up with his buddies. Dave felt surprised by his lack of guilt. But why should he feel guilty? He was talking to the guy, not _blowing_ him.

"So... You... Oh, oh my God." The masked man stammered and Dave turned his attention back to him. "Um… I'm sorry. I need to… I need to use the restroom. Excuse me." Dave couldn't begin to understand why he felt so dejected as he stared after the man who weaved in and out of people on his way towards the bathroom, but his thoughts of his rescuee were interrupted by the rich, English accent of his boyfriend behind him.

"David? Who was that you were just talking to?"

"Hmm…?" he intoned noncommittally. "Oh. I don't know. I didn't see his face," Dave said nonchalantly. The bartender had since taken the full martini glass away to make room for more customers, leaving no trace of the man behind.

"He wasn't coming on to you, was he?"

"Dressed like this?" Dave said motioning to his baby carrier and beard. "Course not."

"Oh… Well, my friend Jonathon… I don't think you met him before. He said he used to read your sports column every day. He wanted to..." Dave's eyes wandered toward the bathroom where the man had disappeared, not listening to a word Travis was saying.

_'My hero.' _

The voice kept replaying itself over and over again in his head. He didn't pay much attention to it before, but he couldn't help but find it familiar, like a voice in a dream. But considering this was New York, he easily could have been talking to an actor, or even a recording artist simply searching for a night of anonymity. So as he allowed his boyfriend to pull him in the direction of his friends, he attempted to push away the thoughts of the masked man, simply chalking their meeting as a simple blip in time. He felt silly for thinking anything could come of their chalk, especially now, with his boyfriend's hand in his. He knew better than anyone else that somethings were just not meant to be.

**o0o**

Kurt hated that he bailed on the very man who had saved him. He had been surprisingly sweet, and he couldn't help but be pleasantly amused by his get-up: the obviously fake and grotesque beard and wig, as well as the silver aviator glasses on both him and the fake plastic baby completely obscuring his face. Although he had advised Rachel that there was no way he would be hooking up that evening, he could have, in the very least, asked the man for his name and number. Maybe they could have gone out again some other time, and in a much quieter location. But who was he kidding? He wasn't ready for a new relationship. At least not yet. And his reaction to seeing the man across the room… the very person that sent him running to the bathroom, revealed some semblance of uncertainty when it came to the close of the one and only relationship he had ever been in.

Kurt stood with his masked forehead pressed up against the stall. He knew he should have stayed home that night and never have let Rachel convince him to go out. Of all the bars in New York, why did he have to be _here_ of all places?

"Kurt?" Kurt heard the bathroom door open and shut and he cursed quietly. "Kurt, I know that's you. You only wore that on Halloween during your senior year at SUNY. Besides… There was no way I couldn't mistake that giant with the awful dances moves on the dance floor for Finn."

Kurt sighed disparagingly as he slowly opened the door, and when he shuffled out of the stall, it was to be face to face with none other than his ex-husband himself.

"Hi," Kurt said softly, slipping off his mask in order to rub his hand over his face in a mixture of weariness and unexplainable shyness.

Blaine looked exactly the same as he did when he last saw him, which would make sense, considering the short time that had passed since they sat in their old apartment, signing the last of their divorce papers. Despite being dressed up and looking as completely ridiculous as thirty-year-olds at a frat party—Blaine looking like the perfect, if not stunted, Superman, a black, gelled curl coming down to his forehead—the space in, around, and between them was serious.

"Hey." Blaine's tone was sympathetic and Kurt had to turn his head away from his compassionate, yet scrutinizing eyes, easily examining him in silent judgement, checking for cracks in his veneer. He hated how Blaine was able to pick up on his various and subtle nuances both on the surface as well as the secrets he hid in the darkest corners of his mind. It brought him back to his days in elementary school after his mother passed away and how his father and the school teachers felt he should talk to the counselor. He remembered how the strange woman would just sit quietly, her stare never wavering—as if she expected him to pour his soul out to a person he didn't even know—much like how he wasn't about to let himself pour his soul out to Blaine. At least, he didn't _want_ to. But a crack in a dam could only hold the water in for so long.

"How's, um… Everything?"

"Okay." As Blaine nodded sadly, it didn't seem like it though. "You?"

"Great," Kurt croaked, not looking at Blaine. He fiddled with his mask instead.

"Which explains why you ran into the bathroom as soon as you saw me?" Blaine pursed his lips, his thick eyebrows furrowing. "Kurt, this was the last thing that I wanted when we got the divorce. I thought we agreed this was for the best?"

Kurt stared unblinkingly at Blaine and his sincere expression.

"I still don't understand where we went wrong." Kurt cursed himself silently when he was able to pick up the unmistakable tremor in his own voice. He licked his lips. "I thought I was doing fine adjusting to everything, but seeing you here tonight…? Seeing you so happy with the people you're with. I don't think I've ever seen you that happy when you were with me. And it hurts like hell." And there it went. The water bursting forth from the dam.

"Kurt…" Blaine took a step forward, reaching out in an attempt to console him, but Kurt shook his head.

"No, Blaine. I'm not mad. It's just…" he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "After everything… I could deal with losing my husband, but I never prepared myself for possibility of losing my best friend."

"You'll always be my best friend, Kurt." Blaine reached out, gently taking Kurt's hand in his. Kurt didn't try to move away that time. He looked down at their fingers loosely tangled with one another.

"I wish I could have tried harder for you…" Kurt said in a whisper, almost muted by the sound of the bass just outside the door. "To fix this. Fourteen years, Blaine… Eight _married_."

"Were you happy, Kurt?" Blaine asked suddenly, looking up.

"What?" The question caught Kurt off guard and not because he was offended that Blaine would ask him such a thing, but because seconds passed and he remained unable to answer Blaine's question.

"Were you happy in our marriage, truly?" he asked again, simply.

"I… I was with you," Kurt replied, like this reason alone would suffice.

"Is that really the best way to live your life? Relying on the expectation of happiness? Passively waiting for it to eventually wander towards you like a stray puppy? Or actively searching for it yourself?" Blaine paused, searching for the right words to say. "It's like... Wanting to fly your favorite kite in a thunderstorm, Kurt." He paused once more, but this time to allow for the message to sink in. "Was I really that worth it?"

Kurt closed his eyes, actually mulling over the question.

"You keep saying you wished you could have tried harder. I might be a psychologist, Kurt, but even I couldn't begin to sort out all of my issues on my own."

"I said I would never say goodbye to you," Kurt said, like it would somehow change things.

"You don't have to. God... I mean, the last thing I ever wanted was for us to turn into my parent's after their divorce. You know you can call me if you need anything. You _are_ my best friend, Kurt," he said once more as he inclined his head to emphasize that fact. "No matter what happens, alright."

"Yeah." Kurt nodded bleakly.

"Come here." Blaine reached out for Kurt, and Kurt easily wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders and closed his eyes, but being mindful of his red cape. What Blaine started to move away, Kurt somehow found it that much easier to let go.

"I guess I better get back out there," he started regretfully, but then on a lighter note, placed his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest. "My people need me." Kurt giggled into his hand as he leaned back against the sink. Blaine had his hand on the doorknob, about to step back out onto the floor when he stopped.

"Um… What you said before... About me being happy out there. Some of my colleagues wanted to throw me a going away party. I got accepted into a Psy. D program in California," he explained. "I'll be leaving this weekend."

Kurt blinked, standing up straighter.

"Blaine, that's great… I'm really happy for you." Kurt smiled when he realized that he genuinely meant it.

"Thanks, Kurt. I am happy and…" he swallowed thickly. "As much as you wanted to believe you were happy in our relationship... God, I hope someone comes along and is able to prove you wrong." He gave Kurt a sad smile before pulling open the door, the loud bass from the speakers quickly filling the silence of the small room.

When Blaine stepped out of the bathroom, Kurt had to wipe away the single. unexpected tear that ran down his cheek from Blaine's parting words. He turned the faucet on, splashing his face with some cool water before staring at his reflection dripping with water in the mirror before looking back down at the mask. Blaine was right. Of course he was, he was a psychologist after all. He spent so much time trying to do things right in their relationship, yet he never gave much thought of what a relationship of equals would be like. To simply be himself and to have someone to accept that of him, to not have to change or pretend to be something that he wasn't.

He drew himself up resolutely and pulled some paper towels out of the dispenser resolutely to wipe his face. Whether this happiness that Blaine talked about could be found, he wasn't sure, but as he walked out of the bathroom, chucking his mask—just another reminder of the façade he put up for Blaine—in the trash, he wasn't going to pretend for once second that he didn't deserve to grab a hold of it and never let go once he did.

**o0o**

It didn't take long for Kurt to find Rachel and Finn at the bar. Rachel was sipping on a coke (sans her usual rum, he was sure) and Finn was cuddling up to her after already having a couple of drinks.

"Kurt," Rachel voiced her concern as soon as she spotted him. "I was wondering where you got to. Is everything all right?"

"Yes... And no... Blaine is here. I just talked to him."

"Oh, Kurt... I had no idea he would be here."

"I know," Kurt said calmly. "It's okay, we... We're okay, but I think I want to get out of here. It's too loud and crowded and the talk we had kind of wore me out."

"Yeah. Of course," she said, handing some money to the bartender. "Was it bad?" she asked as they moved away from the bar and headed for the front door.

"No, I think it helped. It's obvious that Blaine has moved on. He's going on to get his doctorate. He's happy, and it just helped me realize that I could be too. I just don't think tonight's the night though," Kurt said with a tired laugh, implying the idea that maybe meeting someone new would help him take his mind off his ex.

"We're obviously not cut out for this partying lifestyle anymore. At least not this guy," she said, patting Finn's spandex covered stomach affectionately. "What do you say we go to this amazing 24-hour diner down the block. I would literally kill for one of their veggie burgers." Kurt groaned.

"I don't think I've ever craved a chocolate shake and french fries so much in my life. Let's go." Kurt allowed Rachel to tuck her hand in his elbow and pull both he and Finn towards the exit, and on the way out, he was fairly certain he saw the glint of synthetic auburn hair flashing at him thanks to the rainbow strobe lights.

His mystery man.

Kurt sighed, eyeing the bearish-man who seemed to be wrapped up in conversation with an attractive forty-something year old, wearing a silvery suit that matched his short, salt and pepper hair.

Kurt sighed.

He didn't know what was more depressing: How fast other's seemed to move on from him, or the fact that he was able to make a mountain out of a molehill of a situation. Apparently the brief "something" he felt with the man was as fanciful and misleading as the happiness that he assumed with Blaine. Kurt looked at Rachel and Finn giggling and the sparkle in their eyes that was only intended for one another. Their relationship had been ripped apart sewn back together so many times due to distance, obligations and responsibilities, school, work, and, quite literally, war, that it only made the fabric of their love that much stronger. They were proof that if two people were meant to be, they were meant to be.

There was once a time when he believed Blaine to be his Prince... his happily ever after. But all fairy tales come to an end. He was ready for the next chapter in his life - a new adventure. If Blaine thought there was a greater chance at happiness waiting for him, then he would find it when the time was right. He would find something better.

One day, his king would come.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Tofurkey, With a Side of Surprises

**o0o**

Thursday, 28 November 2024

Halloween came and went as ghosts, jack-o-lanterns, and scarecrows were replaced with cornucopias, all overflowing with an abundance of fresh and colorful fruits for the taking, decorating the front desk in the lobby at Kurt's apartment building as well as the desks belonging to many of the people he worked with at_ Vogue. _His trips to the _Foodex_ down the block were accompanied with the spicy and comforting scents of pumpkin and apple pies being churned out from the in-store bakery daily, which meant Kurt never returning to his apartment empty handed. November few by in a literal flurry, as snow fell from the sky with fewer days in between where the sidewalks in New York City were not completely coated in white. As much as Kurt loved it New York in the fall, the fact that it was Thanksgiving meant being able to spend time with his family in Ohio.

When Kurt arrived at the Hummel-Hudson household (_late_ due to the awful weather and much to his dismay, as he was hoping he could help Carole with making Thanksgiving dinner), it was to be tackled in a bear hug by Finn. The last time they saw one another was almost five weeks ago at Halloween. At that time, Finn was unaware of the huge, impending change and responsibilities that were soon to befall him. Hearing his excitement on the phone the morning after Halloween could not quite eclipse actually being able to see Finn's vast grin with the knowledge about his fate as a soon-to-be daddy.

His father, as _bald _as ever but not looking a day over fifty despite being just two years away from the big _6-0, _nearly lifted him off of his feet in his own fatherly greeting. As much as they spoke on the phone, the last time they had seen each other was Christmas the year before and his exuberance in seeing his son was not lacking.

Next came Carole as lovely and sweet as ever, kissing his forehead and touching his cheek in a motherly fashion as she told him that she made his favorite raspberry cheesecake for dessert.

Then he hugged Rachel, who stood back to avoid the commotion between Kurt and what was now_ their_ family, being mindful of her belly, which was starting to become rather apparent on her tiny frame (and he was sure the rest of the Hummel-Hudson-Berry clan would have bellies to match, once they had their dinner). After carefully embracing her, he knelt down to peck a small kiss on her tummy where his future niece or nephew would continue to reside for the next seven months. Finally, he gave Hiram and Leroy Berry, his fabulous and honorary godfathers, as he called them, each a simultaneous hug. It felt wonderful to be back with his huge, happy family.

During dinner they talked about how everyone was doing in their respective careers, as well as potential baby names for the Little Hudson-Berry, how much Rachel missed the stage (though her excitement of raising a future star definitely compensated for that fact), the next issue of _Vogue_ that Kurt was working on, and how surprisingly delicious the Tofurkey was, which only resulted in Finn staring at his plate in deceit at the fact that he had been eating soy product rather than bird the entire time (prompting Kurt to exclaim how _"most turkeys have wings and legs and don't come in the shape of a bowling ball, Finn"_). Best of all was the fact that everyone avoided the topic of Kurt's divorce, which he was eternally grateful for. It was when they were all contently full, nibbling on the crumbs of their slices of cheesecake that Kurt choked on his coffee while starting to fade in and out while listening to the conversations being had by Hiram, Leroy, and Carole at the opposite end of the table.

"Oh, yes… He's like a Nate Berkus of architecture, Carole. You wouldn't believe it," Leroy spoke jubilantly as he leaned forward in his chair, his gold and orange paisley ascot hovering dangerously over his half-empty glass of the sauvignon blanc that Kurt brought with him on his trip.

"Heard he's also dating the former _New York Times_ sports columnist, Daniel… Karofsky, I think it was?" Hiram added.

Kurt spluttered, practically inhaling the dark, steaming liquid.

"Wait, did you just say Karofsky?" Kurt wiped his nose off on the napkin before the droplet of coffee could drip onto his slacks. His eyes were wide as he stared down the table. "Do you mean _David_ Karofsky?"

"Oh, yes. I think that's right," Hiram said, tapping his chin collectively. Finn and Rachel looked towards Kurt anxiously. It had been years since he had heard the name, but quite suddenly, and rather jarringly, all of the memories came rushing back. His brother and sister-in-law were quite aware of the past he had with Karofsky. Well… _Almost_ all of it. And that much was evident on their faces.

Kurt turned accusatorily towards Finn, who was sitting next to him.

"Finn, you're interested in sports. Why didn't you tell me Karofsky was in New York?" Finn looked mildly offended as he chewed his cake.

"Dude, I didn't know," he said honestly, shrugging. "Like I read the paper… Why else did they invent ESPN?"

Kurt sat back into his chair heavily. He didn't know why he felt so affected by the news. Hell, he didn't know in what way he was affected, _period, _or what he planned on doing with this information. The last time he heard from Dave was on Valentine's Day of his senior year of high school. It was a long and distant memory - one that took him the longest time to forget as he couldn't help but feel he stabbed himself with his own figurative sword after rejecting Dave. And finally, something dawned on him.

"You said _former_ sports columnist. What happened? Is he okay?"

"He's fine." Burt spoke up. He turned his head, confused by the way his dad suddenly jumped into the conversation. He swirled his wine in his glass rather solemnly. "I saw him. No more than four or five months ago, actually." Kurt frowned

"What do you mean? He was back here? What for? Why didn't you tell me?" Kurt drilled his dad.

"Briefly," Burt said gravely, correcting him. "His dad, Paul… He passed away. Heart failure. Carole read about it in the obituaries. We went to the funeral to pay our respects, considering how hard he tried to… _Help_… With the two you and your situation in high school."

"Oh," Kurt said softly. Kurt had believed Mr. Karofsky to be a good man, no matter how awful Dave had treated him when he singled him out during those few weeks during their junior year. He had taken Kurt's side, much to his surprise, when it came to punishing Dave for his behavior, and he had been soft-spoken and had an air of gentleness that Kurt had been fortunate to see in Dave during that week of Valentine's. As Burt continued on, he gave his son a look that clearly said he wanted to talk later and successfully made him feel as though he was a sixteen year old again.

"Didn't stay long, though," Burt said, finally looking away. He took a swig of the crisp alcohol before setting the glass back down. "Must have had some family problems or something because his mom was there. Avoided her the whole time, s'far as I could tell. He left as soon as the service ended."

Kurt exhaled heavily. He felt shaky - jittery, like he had eaten too much cheesecake and it gave him a sugar rush. He knew the food wasn't responsible for the sudden queasiness in the pit of his stomach, however, as it was all cooked and baked to perfection. Though it probably would have been safer for him to stay sitting, he stood up, taking his flat ware with him.

"I'll get started on the dishes, shall I?" he asked, smiling weakly and his voice was squeaky in his ears as he strode through the door into the kitchen.

Kurt set the dishes down in the sink before placing his hands flat on either side of it.

"Something you want to share with the class?" Kurt jumped at the gruff voice of his father.

"Not used to people sneaking up on me like that," Kurt explained as he swept his hair upward, attempting to retain his composure. Burt ignored his excuse, knowing that he caught his son withholding information.

"So, how long have you known this guy played for your team?" Burt asked far too casually as Kurt gave him an innocent look as he took the plate and glass out of his father's hands. Kurt was silent as he filled up the sink with hot, soapy water.

"I don't know what you mean." He turned around, leaning against the counter as the water continued to run. Despite facing his dad, his eyes stayed downcast towards the floor as he fiddled with the dish rag.

"Kurt, I'm _old_, but my hearing hasn't completely escaped me. I heard what Hiram said. He's dating that architect guy. Now spill." Kurt sighed wearily as he closed his eyes.

"It's complicated and not to mention so far in the past that it seems stupid to rehash it. Okay?" Kurt impressed upon him. "Whatever happened between the two of us twelve years ago was nothing so bad that it couldn't be forgiven with much needed groveling," Kurt said, recalling the day that David had broken down in the middle of the school hallway, expressing his remorse. And Kurt had forgiven him.

So why was the one feeling so guilty?

"Okay," Burt said finally as Kurt turned around to turn off the faucet. He dunked his hands into the water, the scald of the liquid upon his skin distracting him just enough from the thoughts plaguing his mind. "I trust you to make the right decisions, Kurt. You know that." Kurt couldn't help but chuckle.

"I also know that I'll be turning thirty next year," Kurt said, giving his dad a small smile, for real this time, as he turned his head while scrubbing the plate.

"And yet you still manage to forget that you're still my son." Burt ruffled Kurt's hair good-naturedly and Kurt pretended to act scandalized before his dad turned around to return to the dining area.

The smile lingered on Kurt's face after his dad left with the knowledge of two things.

One… David Karofsky was in New York—or at least he might be. And two… David Karofsky managed to find the happiness that he had both assured of him and wanted for him on the night of Valentine's Day more than ten years ago.

And if Dave was able to find happiness after all of the denial, fear, and pain that he had subjected himself to in high school, then perhaps his own version of happiness was just around the corner.

**o0o**

This was the first Thanksgiving in years that Dave was not looking forward to. Well... Holidays were not something he generally looked forward to or considered to be fun since he was about fifteen years old. When he was still in high school, he dreaded the family get-togethers—the constant badgerings of "_'Do you have a girlfriend?'_, _'How are your grades?'_, and _'What are your plans for the summer?'_" He was able to easily answer those questions with a "_'No, but there's this girl in my third period'_, _'They could be better'_, and _'Hang out with my friends'_," while thinking all the while, "_'No, and it's probably because I like dick'_, _'I'm failing practically everything... Maybe if I didn't constantly feel on the verge of a panic attack I would do better'_, and _'Jerk off to SeanCody until the wee hours of the morning.'_" But since his father's passing, he was painfully reminded that he would no longer have a chance to visit him during the holidays. No more watching the _NFL_ while they were still in their pajamas on Turkey Day weekend. But it had been years since they had participated in their once-cherished traditions, and Dave couldn't help but feel regret for leaving Ohio so young, even if it had been for the best, anyway.

After keeping his secret a, _well_, secret all through high school, going to live with Evelyn, his Uncle Peter, and Aunt Paola had been strange to say the least, and finishing his last semester at Evelyn's high school had been weird. Not having to hide who he was and the outpouring of acceptance from his schoolmates as well as his family took him a while to get used to, but was a blessing in disguise. He was finally able to be himself without the fear of judgmental looks or alienation. It was hard to believe that a high school in a city like Lima could be so much different than a high school in Manhattan.

As Dave got ready for Thanksgiving with Evelyn, her husband Brian (who had become like a brother to him over the years, despite the amount of flack he gave him for his name, Brian O'Brien), and their son Aidan, as well as well as his aunt and uncle and Brian's parents, Travis's presence in the other room, however, was a constant reminder of how he was stuck in a relationship that was going nowhere.

Travis had not invited him to Thanksgiving as his parent's house, but at the same time, he knew better than to ask Travis to go with him to Evelyn's for dinner, or else Evelyn would have his head on a silver platter next to the amazing, creamy, Orechiette his Aunt Paola made every Thanksgiving. And he knew exactly why Travis's parents wouldn't care to have him dining with them that evening. His current employment, or lack thereof, was bound to be the black mark upon their meal.

Dave heard his cellphone ringing in the living just as he finished shaving. He wiped the small patches of shaving cream off on his towel before passing Travis, who was putting on his shiny black dress shoes, to go pick it up. When he found it laying on the coffee table, he glanced at the name, pressing the "answer button", and greeted the person on the other line.

"Hello, Evelina," Dave said jauntily, knowing just what buttons to push when it came to his cousin.

"_Don't call me that," _Evelyn grunted dangerously. Dave chuckled softly at her annoyed tone. He could hear an array of pots and pans being banged in the background, and he couldn't decipher whether his Aunt Paola was cooking up a storm or if Evelyn's rambunctious three-year-old had somehow gotten a hold of the cookware. _'My mother's here, remember? She calls me that enough for the both of u—Yes, Mamma! Aspettare!" _Dave had to move the phone away from his ear as Evelyn shouted. "God._ She wants to know when her favorite nephew will be here."_

"Doesn't she have, like, four nephews in Italy on your side?" Dave questioned in amusement as he sat down on the couch.

"_Yes, but she said none of them are as appreciative as much as you. Nor love her cooking as much as you. Or take the time to call her like you do."_

"Well, she did give me a place to stay, after all." Dave frowned at the magazine he saw sitting on the coffee table in front of him and he carelessly picked it up. It wasn't Travis's usual Architectural Digest, but a copy of _Vogue_, which he knew for a fact that he wasn't subscribed to. He listened to Evelyn over the phone as he scooted towards the edge of the couch to flip through the magazine, looking at all of the crazy outfits worn by the models on the shiny pages.

"_She's your family, whether you're blood or not. We all are." _Evelyn reminded him. Sometimes he forgot that it was his Uncle Peter that he was actually related to, and not his aunt. _"Now you better hurry up. I need someone to occupy Aidan while I deal with my Mamma and her constant 'Oh, Evelina! You're too skinny! How are you going to give me anymore grand babies when you have hips like a twelve year old boy?" _Dave cracked up at Evelyn's accurate impression of her mother - thick, Italian accent and all.

"_Crap, she heard me. __Okay. I've got to go. Sbrigati! David!"_

"Leaving in thirty," he said before hanging up the phone before looking back down at the magazine in his hands.

"Hey, Trav?" Dave called to Travis in the other room.

"Yes?"

Travis came out of his bedroom, looking tall, willowy, and dapper dressed in a navy blue tux that made the freckles - enough of them on his face to make him look tan from far away - pop. His coppery-brown hair was swept upward.

"Is this your magazine?" Dave held the booklet up, not that there was any other magazine there on the coffee table that he could be referring too.

"Yeah," he waved his hand around nonchalantly as he went into the kitchen. "It has an article about Daniel Romualdez's Connecticut home that I've been wanting to read." Dave had no idea who that was and could only assume he was another architect. Travis definitely had more style than he did, but he couldn't imagine Travis buying _Vogue_ for a bit of light reading. He flipped through the magazine and froze - his blood running cold - when he flipped to the back of the of the inside cover and a name caught his eye.

_Kurt Hummel, Editor-in-Chief_

Dave dropped the magazine on the glass top of the coffee table and slammed it shut as if he was just looking at something indecent.

"Um, I'm going to have to get going, Travis." Dave stood up, trying not to notice how the room was spinning, and he rubbed his suddenly clammy palms on his pants as he moved to the kitchen where he picked up his keys off of the bar. He spared a glance at Travis, who was flipping through his planner, his nose practically an inch away from the page as he filled in some dates or appointments with potential customers or contractors. "I've, ugh, got to pick up some wine on the way over there."

"Yeah, that's fine," he murmured shortly, his gray eyes scanning over the page. Dave wished he cared enough to look up from what he was doing - to notice his obvious and sudden distress - but then again he didn't exactly expect more from him.

"'kay. Have a good time with your parents. I'll see you tonight," Dave said faintly. He let out a breath as he walked out the door, and after he shut it behind him, he fell back upon it, covering his face with a hand. An act that had nothing to do with the overall lack of caring on Travis's part, but the name he saw in the magazine—a name he thought he left behind him in Ohio almost twelve years ago.

And suddenly all the memories that he attempted to move past from—memories that no doubt helped him become the better person that he was today—came crashing around him. It was like a chain reaction... a domino effect... each memory triggering the next.

The kiss. His expulsion. The meeting in the principal's office. Prom. Valentines Day. The reason for moving to New York, as well as what he attempted to do _right before _in the hopes of finding a permanent solution to all of his problems.

But the most startling fact of all was how he would pass the _Vogue _Building everyday, to and from work. It was only a block away. A simple fingernail's width on the map. He must have been no more than minutes away from one Kurt Hummel, for years at least, this entire time.

And that, alone, was a thought that could drive the sanest of men mad.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

You've Got Mail

**o0o**

Monday, 2 December 2024

Kurt arrived home on Sunday evening the night before after his amazing and long weekend with his family, feeling not nearly ready enough to go work the next day. He was fortunate that there was only one state in between them, not making it a hardship to see them during the holidays or whenever he had time off from work. It also meant only an hour and a half of dozing between takeoff and before landing at LaGuardia Airport. He did, however, have to curse the close proximity in which Thanksgiving and Christmas took place. In just a matter of weeks, he would be returning to Ohio to spend the next winter holiday with his family, not that he dreaded the notion in the least. As much as New York would be home to him, nothing said _home_ like being able to spend the holidays with the ones he loved.

What he was most thankful for this Thanksgiving was the fact that none of his family members asked him any questions or offer their condolences in soft, regretful tones about his divorce, because strangely enough... He was fine. It saved him the awkwardness of pretending to accept any possible remorseful lamentations with mock gratitude. If anything, since seeing Blaine on Halloween and having that talk with him, as well as knowing that he was now in California (probably impatiently awaiting summer, the warm beaches, and sand between his toes) made the process of moving on a lot easier.

Thanksgiving dinner, though, did lead to the shocking discovery that David Karofsky was, more than likely, in New York City.

Kurt spent a better part of his day trying to keep his mind alert and focused on the task at hand. He needed to read, edit, and approve the article and spread written by one of his younger co-workers, but he caught himself multiple times as his attention started drifting away from him as he began to ponder what has become of the teen… _man_… who he hadn't seen in more than a decade, so much that his eyes scanned the title of the article (_"What Fall Color is Right For YOU?"_) at least twenty times before being able to make sense of it.

_Fall…_

Kurt found himself leaning back in his desk chair futilely, tossing his pen down in defeat. It was hard to believe, even after twelve years, that Dave Karofsky had fallen for him. _Well…_ _Fell_ in love with him, apparently, but he wanted to avoid the semantics, especially when Dave had hardly known him. But that didn't make the guilt of having to reject Dave any easier to bear.

Despite the fact that Dave told him during their senior year that, as much as he wanted them to be together, he wasn't ready to come out, it was apparent that he had come a long way. Being out and dating a successful architect, that much was obvious. But it wasn't like he had expected Dave to stay in the closet his whole life, especially considering the progress he made in accepting himself and changing his ways in high school alone. And after the ugly confrontation when it came to Dave running in to one of his schoolmates, who felt the need to butt in on something that was none of his business, at _Breadstix,_ he had to wonder what became of that situation.

As much as he had tried to tell Dave that he did like him—and how proud he was of him and how much he wanted to be his friend—he never heard from him again. In fact, after allowing some time for the air to settle between them, he tried to find him on Facebook a few weeks later after the confession, only to find that there was no Dave, or even _David_, Karofsky on Facebook. There was, however, a link on the top of the page asking _"Did you mean Dale Krueger?"_ He had cursed himself, wishing that he had _friended_ Dave after he saw him at _Scandals_. But he did realize that they exchanged numbers that day. Dave had mentioned "baby steps" to him in that bleak, seedy bar, and together they toasted to a future where they can both be themselves and not fear what others thought of them.

Offering to exchange numbers with Dave had been his own "baby step". It was him reaching out to provide Dave with a support system (and a much needed, albeit small, one, at that) in the off chance that if he ever need someone to talk to - about anything - he could be the one to call.

So he attempted to call Dave to make sure everything was okay at his new school, and that the smug prick at _Breadstix_ didn't give him any trouble that week, only to receive his voicemail. He tried again the next day as well, only to be met with the same results, and once again before graduation to see if he wanted to meet up for a coffee, only_ that_ time he found himself having to listen to the noxious recording from the phone company explain how that number was no longer in service. He was completely puzzled and at a loss as to what might have happened to him. It was like Dave had disappeared from the face of the earth leaving neither hide nor hair of himself behind.

Which brought Kurt back to where he was now, sitting in his office and eying his computer anxiously. He thought of going on to Google and typing in Dave's name or even going on to Facebook to see if he made a new account, but who was he kidding? Nobody used Facebook anymore. And what would he even accomplish from that? He couldn't even begin to think of the right words to say. He even considered typing in that Travis guy's name to see what information could come up, but that idea was quickly thwarted when his eager and over-caffeinated intern buzzed his phone, saying he had a phone call from the Paris Headquarters regarding an impending fundraiser.

When he got off from work after his very unproductive day, he stopped to retrieve his mail. After he collected his mail - all junk, he noted - he then made his way down the hall towards the elevator as he heard the lobby doors open, and he willed himself to stop thinking about Dave Karofsky, telling himself that the chance of running into Dave in the middle of New York City was as slim as the possibility of it being Dave who walked into the apartment building behind him.

o0o

Dave pulled his hoodie off of his head as he entered the apartment building, the fabric flecked with soft white flakes that would soon begin to melt and dampen the fabric. He slipped off his warm woolen gloves, stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans that didn't hold his keys, before cupping his hands and holding them to his lips to warm them with a huff of air. It felt good to get out of the apartment after being cooped up all day. A brisk walk to Central Park and back was a good hour, so he was feeling awakened. He hoped that now, after clearing his head, he would be able to brainstorm a topic that didn't have to do with football, or sports in general.

Though he went out for a walk in the cold with the hopes it would revitalize him, but little of that time was actually spent brainstorming. Since finding out that Kurt Hummel was in New York, he couldn't stop thinking about him. It also didn't help that the magazine was still just sitting there on his coffee table, taunting him.

He walked through the park wondering—_hoping_—that Kurt was doing well. He, of all people, would know that being _successful_ didn't automatically mean being _happy_. And Kurt deserved both. He wondered if he was married (probably to that guy he saw hanging around with him in high school a numerous times) and if he had kids (maybe, he'd probably enjoy dressing them up in crazy outfits like the one's he always use to wear), among other things. He remembered how incredibly kind, gorgeous, and smart Kurt was, and realized he would have to be insane to think he was single. After all of the shit he and the other jocks did to him, he deserved, above all else, to be happy.

Dave wiped the wet soles of his shoes on the mat just inside the doors of the apartment complex so he wouldn't slip on the tile floor when he went to collect his mail, just as he heard the muted ding of the elevator down the hall.

He whistled quietly to himself as he found his mailbox from the third row from the top and the third one from the left. #_703_. He put his little key in the lock and turned it, pulling the box open. He figured there wouldn't be any mail for him, considering it was the beginning of the month and didn't have any bills to pay, and he was right. But there was one single envelope on the inside of the cold, metal box.

Dave lifted up the red envelope and shut the door, locking it once more. It looked like it contained some sort of greeting card for Thanksgiving, or even Christmas, and he dreaded the notion that it could be from his mom. As he made his way to the elevator that had just shut—having neglected to call out to the person to hold the door for him—he grimaced, shaking his head in annoyance as he looked down at the card, only to feel as though his heart managed to climb its way into his throat.

That… Couldn't be right... _Could_ it?

Dave stared at the card in his hands blankly, forgetting where he was and that he needed to press the button to the elevator if he ever wanted to back up to his apartment.

But he was much too distracted by the sudden rush of blood to his head that he actually felt as though the room swayed, and he had to lean against the wall to prevent his legs from giving out from underneath him. His hands trembled and raised one of them to rub his temple in bewilderment as he wondered why there would there be a letter with Kurt Hummel's name in his mail box?

Dave inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in an attempt to make sense of the strange situation as well as to get some much needed oxygen into his lungs. Seeing his name in a random magazine had been one thing, but seeing that he received a letter from Kurt Hummel out of the blue? It was downright _weird_ and the strangest of coincidences, considering he just found out that he was in New York.

Dave opened his eyes and he blinked, suddenly registering something he didn't notice before.

Kurt Hummel didn't send him the letter.

The letter was addressed _to_ Kurt Hummel, and from an _Anderson_ in Los Angeles, California.

It was like a mantra that was unremittingly repeated itself in his head. A little niggling voice repeating in his ear.

The letter was sent to Kurt Hummel.

The letter was _for_ Kurt Hummel.

_Kurt E. Hummel._

_101 West End Ave_

_Apt. #603_

_New York, NY 10023_

Right. Below. _Him._

Dave felt the air escape his lungs as he looked up at the analog numbers slowly flashing in red above the elevator.

Surely the elevator would have been back on the ground floor by now, but what felt like minutes staring at the card, flabbergasted, was, in actuality, mere seconds.

_3…_

He took in a shuddering breath, the air feeling stale and useless in his lungs.

_4…_

He licked his lips, only for them to feel just a little bit more chapped then before.

_5…_

He rose his hand to his mouth to gnaw on his thumb nail, only to find that he had already chewed it down to the edge over the long weekend, contemplating the proximity between he and the boy he was once convinced he was in love with.

_6…_

Dave waited for the number to change, but it didn't. He was able to count to five before finally pressing the illuminated button as the numbers started going down once more.

_5…_

"No…" Dave breathed out. Registering the possibility of just who could have taken the elevator up to the sixth floor.

_4…_

"It can't be." He wanted to tell himself that in no way could it have been Kurt, but at this point, nothing seemed impossible.

_3…_

He leaned over, jamming his thumb upon the button once more, willing for it to hurry up, growing steadily impatient as he wondered what the hell was wrong with the other elevator and for the landlord to put an "out of service sign" on the door, at least.

_2…_

He shifted anxiously on the spot, tapping the card against the palm of his hand.

_1…_

Finally the elevator doors slowly opened. Dave exhaled like it was some sort of miracle and he pushed his way inside before they could open fully. He tapped the number six before he pounded the button that was supposed to make the doors close, but even he was naïve to think that worked in _any_ elevator. When they eventually closed, Dave found himself looking closely at the envelope once more to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Hell, maybe he was dreaming. He imagined himself laying somewhere in the bushes in Central Park, knocked unconscious after being mugged and about to catch hypothermia. He used the hand not holding the envelope to pinch the skin through the thick fabric on his opposite arm. He did not wake, and even better than that, he could still feel the wallet in his back pocket, right where it should be.

Dave didn't bother looking at the numbers above his head. He knew that it would only make time slow down. But finally and with a great lurch, the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.

When Dave practically stumbled out of the elevator and turned in the direction of where his apartment would be if he was on the seventh floor, he felt as though his heart successfully stopped beating, the blood freezing in his veins as he was outside in the cold once more.

He took three more steps down the quiet and nearly empty hall if it hadn't been for him and the man struggling to open the door while his hands were full of what looked like junk mail. He licked his parched lips as he stood stock still, staring at the man. How could he not? The familiar coiffed, russet brown hair. The rose-tinted, porcelain cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. The dark eyelashes fluttering around the same, though considerably matured, almond-shaped eyes.

"Kurt?" Dave rasped as he ground his back teeth together, waiting for a response. And he thought this had to be a dream. Like one of those recurring dreams he had of the small, confining room lined with clothing and hangers. He recalled the flash of the letterman jacket and the tint of the jewels from the gold crown peeking out from the box on the top shelf. It was easy to see it from where he stood on top of the chair. The sturdy, seemingly reliable wood would disappear from under his feet completely before feeling the inexorable tightness of the leather material around his throat. In that dream, he always cried out for the same person for help, but that person would never hear him. He was never present. Why would they be there in his closet, of all places, even if it was just a dream? But if this was a dream, the Kurt in front of him would successfully open the door to his apartment and go inside, leaving Dave to be consumed in the unmitigated darkness of his dream world. But that was how he knew he couldn't be dreaming now, because that moment never did come.

Present Kurt didn't turn the key. And he most definitely didn't go inside. But he did turn his head as Dave took one more tentative step closer, the envelope feeling weightless in his hand as a paralyzing chill overtook his body as the startling bright cornflower blue eyes surrounded by a darker ring of ocean blue met his, and the full, coral-pink lips parted as the two hushed and questioning syllables floated into the stillness of the air between their bodies.

"David?"


	7. Chapter 6, Part I

**Chapter Six**

Up All Night

_Part I_

**o0o**

**Monday, 3 December 2024**

_**3:01 AM**_

Kurt lay awake in bed, staring at the bright display of the digital clock on the bedside table. It illuminated the otherwise dark corner of his room, bathing it in an eerie emerald glow. The numbers mocked him with the knowledge that he would need to wake up in just three short hours. Getting any sleep that night, even before he climbed into bed at a quarter till twelve, seemed a futile effort considering the events that transpired earlier that evening.

_"David?"_

The name had tumbled from his mouth so effortlessly. It was as though it had prepared itself before he could realize its owner's presence—like a gun loaded, cocked, and ready to fire. Formerly latent on his tongue, his name was the bullet speeding out of the chamber. And he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it—to divert its course. Nothing could have prepared him for the lethality of his declaration and he should have known, better than anyone, how a single word could shape a person's entire life. The single _'yes'_ he had uttered to Blaine—as the other waited, black box in hand on bended knee—had been an excellent testament of that.

_"Oh my _God_."_

Kurt heard the residual echo of his own disbelief as he relayed his words incessantly to himself, in his mind, hours after the fact. With an irritated groan, he reached out and turned the clock away just as the _one_ changed to a _two_ to make it _three-oh-two._

In an effort to finally fall asleep, he flipped over onto his stomach and closed his eyes as he buried his face into the pillow. This only exacerbated his insomnia as he found the meeting between him and Dave project itself onto the inside of his eyelids—like an out of body experience where he was able to sit in a movie theater watching his own life pan out.

The cold metal keys had slipped through his limp fingers even before he could unlock the door to his apartment. He had stared unblinkingly at Dave the same way he stared unblinkingly at his blackened ceiling, trying to make sense of his thoughts as he had at that time. And at that time he maintained the belief that he was only imagining things—that this was only a mere case of mistaken identity—but he knew his eyesight was impeccable. He had a ways to go before he would need glasses, so there was no mistaking the man in front of him than anyone other than Dave Karofsky—albeit an incredibly _changed_ Dave Karofsky.

Kurt propped himself up on his elbow and he swiped his hand blearily over his eyes before dragging himself out of bed. His body instantly registered the cold air as it swathed his naked torso, which was no longer enticingly toasty from being bundled up under the thick comforter. He shivered, crossing his arms protectively in front of his chest as he rubbed his hands up and down the bare flesh of his arms to warm himself up.

He stumbled through the darkness, treading carefully as he made his way to the door. As he reached blindly for the doorknob, he misjudged the distance and his hand swept over the surface of his dresser. His hand grazed the brooch he wore that day (a rustic looking steampunk piece with a clock face with fixed hands and a small dolphin figure attached to it, just below a tarnished metal gear) was sent clattering to the floor from its perch.

The sound was like that of his keys jangling as they hit the floor. He had jumped just as he did right then and there with the brooch. The clicking clamor had been seemingly hyperbolized when it echoed in the empty hall.

But the hall hadn't been empty. The wide gap of cream-colored carpet, ceiling, and walls between him and Dave had been palpably filled with the years in which they had not seen the other. Their lack of communication and contact since their senior year was easily transposed into the silence permeating between them.

The air had been thick with tension and Kurt instinctively hugged the papers and envelopes in his arms to his chest. He regretted the action immediately as the last thing he wanted was for Dave to get the wrong impression—that he was uncomfortable or perhaps fearful of what he could be doing in his apartment building. He had expected to see anger flash in Dave's eyes, an accusatory reminder of his obvious disregard of his statement twelve years ago in which he said that he considered him a friend, that he _wanted_ the two of them to be friends, but that moment never came.

At the same time, he had to scold himself. Friends don't go twelve years without talking to one another, especially when one of them was obviously struggling and needed a like-minded person in their life to turn to if things ever turned bad... Became too much to bear.

Still... There had been no display of any sort of resentment etched upon Dave's face. His expression, however, did mirror his own. They stood facing the other—stock still—in just one of the hundreds of thousands of apartments in New York City, both clearly wondering how two lives could be so indefinitely entangled, especially between two individuals whose journey of understanding, acceptance, honesty, and apology began more than a decade ago and more than five-hundred miles away from where they stood then.

_"What… I don't…"_

He opened the bedroom door and allowed the diffused white light of the moon, mingling with the dingy yellow glow of the street lights below, to seep into his bedroom through the window blinds, atypically pushed aside, in the living room. At least now he could see what he was doing without having to turn on the overwhelmingly bright lights of his bedroom.

He pulled open the second drawer to find something to wear as the scenes of his and Dave's encounter continued to relay itself in his mind—how his reaction had surpassed shock to the point where he could hardly form a coherent thought. And neither could Dave, apparently, as he merely took a few tentative steps toward him as though he imagined him as a mirage and anticipated that he would disappear the closer to him he became. And the closer Dave moved towards him, the better he was able to read his expressions and his body language. The way his lips parted wordlessly as diction failed him; his rich, golden-brown eyes betraying awe. It was then that he realized Dave was just as surprised as he was to have run into each other and could not have prepared himself for this chance encounter; this little happenstance after all of these years.

And the years had been kind to Dave, Kurt thought as he glanced at his own ghostly appearance in the mirror over his dresser after pulling the warm, charcoal-colored Henley over his head. He leaned in towards the mirror to comb his hair—sticking out from his head at every possible angle—into a more presentable style with his fingers before scrutinizing his dark circles under his eyes in the silvery glass.

Kurt supposed he could be grateful for all the time he spent moisturizing as a teen. While he knew aging wasn't discriminatory, he had yet to see the unwelcome arrival of crow's the workaholic that he was, he felt tired in a way that had nothing to do with his lack of sleep that night. What he needed was a day of relaxation and respite. But then again, marriage and divorce was bound to create some amount of stress upon an individual, and therefore, dark circles were practically a given.

Dave, on the other hand, seemed to have taken better care of himself than Kurt had over the years, looking both stress- and carefree. Kurt found it odd how Dave seemed to have grown at least an inch or two since he last saw him. Kurt wasn't particularly short himself at five-foot-eleven, but his growth spurt in high school seemed to have occurred in the course of one summer. His dad often joked how, in retrospect, he seemed to have grown like a weed over night. Then again, their obvious height difference might have had to do with the way Dave held himself now—taller and prouder with his broad shoulders back. He had obviously grown more comfortable and self-assured in his own skin. It was far cry from the way he remembered Dave—nearly hunched over as he shyly reached for his hand across the table at _Breadstix_.

Kurt had found himself staring at the pull strings dangling from Dave's sweater, which rested upon the wide expanse of his chest. He had to wonder why Dave would want to work for _The New York Times_ when he could have played football for a living, considering his build.

He had looked… _Good._

His eyes slid up Dave's body and fixated upon the tawny irises once more. Dave had raised a questioning eyebrow and Kurt's cheeks burnt with mortification as he tried to convince himself that he hadn't been ogling the other man. Before he could dwell too long upon that thought, Dave had stooped down, causing him to quickly step back, puzzled. He hadn't the slightest idea what the man was doing until Dave brought himself back up to his full height and Kurt was able to see his keys dangling from the end of Dave's curled index finger as he held them to him.

Kurt had held his hand out, palm up, his gaze unwavering and glued to Dave's face even after the keys touched down upon his hand with a gentle clink; after he closed his fingers around them, clutching them so that the smaller mailbox key dug painfully into the malleable flesh of his palm and the key to his apartment stuck out from between his index and middle finger; after he swallowed thickly before speaking with a croak.

_"I was just thinking about you."_

Kurt cringed at how the words sounded in his head as he picked up the crumpled pair of jeans, which he had worn to work that day, off of the floor and slipped them on. The context seemed to allude to something far less innocent than his constant mulling over his whereabouts and well-being since the Berrys mentioned his name in conversation at Thanksgiving dinner.

Despite it being _exactly_ what he intended to say, Kurt automatically became flustered. His cheeks had seared with a torrid heat and he looked down at the floor, laughing self-deprecatingly. A large part of him wished he could hide his face, which he could only assume to be sporting a brilliant shade of maraschino-cherry-red, while the other felt strangely compelled to give this man a hug.

There was a third part of him, however. This third portion that he could only assume to be his conscience, which he tried to convince himself was the most infinitesimal of the three underlying _Kurts_, had a strange, niggling quality similar to that of a Mrs. Hudson-Berry and it seemed very keen to point out how he could easily accomplish both of these feats if it meant hugging Dave and hiding his face in one of his brawny shoulders. Kurt pushed that thought away easily and with a rather confused grimace as to where that train of thought could have came from. Dave, on the other hand, had only cocked his head pleasantly, his eyes squinting in bemusement.

Dave really _had_ changed.

_"I'm not sure what to make of that..._ Kurt." Dave had said benevolently, sounding far more eloquent than what Kurt, in his disheveled state, had been capable of. He had also added his name in an afterthought, like he was testing the foreignness of it and the unfamiliar way it rolled off his tongue, But the way the corner of his mouth twitched let him know he was teasing him.

And as Kurt regarded Dave, who was apparently quite entertained by their state of affairs, he noticed how the corners of his eyes crinkled in harmony with his smirk. Kurt knew enough about dermatology (thanks to all the skin care articles he read in _Vogue _growing up and as an editor now) to know that wrinkles were capable of appearing in a person's twenties. Kurt didn't think Dave was one for practicing extensive skin care rituals and the three faint creases of skin, which was more than likely proof of that, provided a sense of warmth to him. And warmth wasn't something he could recall Dave exhibiting; admiration, appreciation, _ardor_ (he thought contritely), yes. But _warmth_?

Dave had blinked, his thin lips widening into a playful smile and revealing just a hint of the white enamel as he waited for Kurt to explain himself, which only further brightened his eyes—accentuated the individual, traverse lines that were, nonetheless, minutiae in contrast to the aggregation of his features. Kurt had to question whether all the measures he had taken over the years to prevent any similar imperfections from appearing on his own face had been worth the effort, especially when Dave made "middle-age" look so... Becoming.

He wore it well.

_"No, I mean... What I meant to say was..."_ Kurt had to take a steadying breath and he had glanced down at the minimal space between the tips of Dave's sneakers and his own boots. When he lifted his gaze he smiled and blinked away the guilt, the sadness, and the worry and finally said the one thing he needed to say.

_"Hi, David."_

Kurt sighed as he walked into the living room and picked up the pea coat strewn across the back of the couch. Considering he had forgone his usual routine altogether by not hanging up his coat in his closet or dumping his dirty clothes in the hamper, it was obvious that he wasn't thinking clearly (or at all) when he got home. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't happy about the weird coincidence that was running into Dave. But his flustered state in the hall as well as when he entered his quiet apartment—alone and trapped with his unceasing, chaotic thoughts—made it obvious that Dave had clearly messed up his routine. He had yet to even open the envelope on the table that Blaine had sent him and was taken aback by his disinterest in its contents.

_"I, uh..."_ It had been Dave's turn to look down as he laughed softly. _"I think this belongs to you. It was in my mailbox." _He offered meekly as he held an envelope out to him. Kurt took it, trying not to drop the other papers in his arms that were becoming more and more rumpled and askew. Staring at it curiously, he noticed the number _603_ printed in ink—his apartment number.

_"Thank you…" _he breathed._"That's strange. The mailman must have put it in yours by... Wait…_Your _mailbox?" _he paused, his eyes widening incredulously as he stared at the man once more._"You_ live _here?"_

As he buttoned up his pea coat, he recalled how Dave had looked around in confusion. Kurt had to belittle himself for asking such a stupid question. Why else would Dave be there?

_"Yeah. Almost five years, actually,"_ Dave said simply and Kurt had to shake his head. Five _years._

"_Wow. That's_... Incredible." Kurt weakly. And he couldn't decide whether incredible would be an over or an understatement.

_"Why?"_ Dave questioned gently as he crossed his arms in front of him thoughtfully. _"How long have you lived here?"_

He looked up from where he was looking at the envelope in his hand nostalgically. It seemed unfair that he had lived in his apartment for so long without knowing that Dave had been there all along.

_"Just a couple of months."_

Kurt walked into the kitchen, searching for his keys when he didn't find them on the table in the foyer. He came up empty in the kitchen, but he did manage to find his cell phone on the counter, the battery almost at fifty percent having forgotten to plug it in to charge once he got home. He knew he would it if he was going to go out this late and he shoved the device into his pocket as he continued the search for his keys.

He wished he could have talked to Dave longer; however, barely after he had revealed how long they had been, unknowingly, living in the same apartment together, Dave had only been able to mimic his own astonishment by uttering a singularly impressed _wow_ before they were interrupted.

"That really isn't that long, now that you think about it," Kurt said, waving him off, trying to sound not at all annoyed by how exorbitantly unfair their circumstances were. "It was only a matter of time that we—"

_**"If you want to take me for a ride..."**_

Kurt stopped talking abruptly when a muffled voice, or a song, rather, came to life. It came from the depths of one of Dave's pockets.

_"Oh, shit,"_ Dave huffed while patting down the pockets to his jeans. _"I'm so sorry,"_ he added apologetically as he looked up at Kurt, his face etched with embarrassment.

Kurt's astonishment morphed into amusement and he giggled, trying his best to stifle the giggle without the use of his hands.

_**"You know you can..."**_

_"It's alright," _Kurt said understandingly as he watched Dave with fascination—pressing his lips together in an attempt to conceal his smile—until he finally found his phone, the source of the noise, in the front pocket of his sweater and he pulled it out. When he looked at the screen, Kurt couldn't help but notice how Dave looked a little put out.

_"You should probably get that,"_ Kurt suggested over the tinny sound of the jazz ensemble and the crooning, velvety drawl of Michael Bublé erupting from the device.

_"I could call him back later... If you wanted to talk?"_ Dave had proposed. His eyes were full of earnest, which made Kurt feel all the more guilty when he shook his head congenially.

_**"I'm your man..."**_

_"No, really..."_ He motioned to the phone in Dave's hand. _"It's fine. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon. I hope,"_ he added truthfully. _"And thanks for…"_ he trailed off, smiling shyly as he waved the red envelope.

_"You're welcome, Kurt. It was good seeing you."_ Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt had been certain that he saw Dave's arm twitch; like he considered reaching out to touch him before thinking better of it. Kurt looked up as Dave gave him a gentle smile, but not before seeing the forlorn look cross his features. As Dave took a couple of steps backwards, a smile teasing his lips spoke up once more as Kurt made a second attempt at getting his keys into the tumbler.

_"Try not to make it another couple of months, okay?"_ Dave joked (though Kurt could almost hear the genuine, underlying request concealed beneath his cheerful tone) before he answered his phone as he turned around, not allowing Kurt the opportunity to correct him.

_Months? _Try _years._

_"Hey, babe."_ Kurt was able to pick up Dave's greeting as he walked toward the elevator and he could almost feel the smile melt off his face. That was right... Dave was seeing someone_. Dave._ The former bully who once terrorized the occupants wandering the halls of McKinley—anyone who dared to be different, dared to stand out—was out and in a relationship with another man, meanwhile _he_ was a twenty-nine year old divorcé and quite alone.

Kurt finally saw a glint of something underneath the coffee table and he frowned when he realized it was his keys. _Had he thrown them?_ He knelt down and picked the keys off the floor with a huff before traipsing towards the front door to slip on the simple pair of black vans he left adjacent to it.

Kurt unlocked the door, which included the doorknob, deadbolt, and chain latch, before pulling the door open. He forgot about the lit hall on the other side and had to squint as his eyes were assaulted from the drastic change in brightness. He shut the door softly behind him, not wanting to wake his neighbors on either side. Finally he locked the deadbolt from the outside before slowly meandering down the hall, in no rush to get to the elevator. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat along with his keys. Running into Dave—the realization that they have been living in the same apartment building, unknowingly, for months after having just discovered he was in New York—had been stupefying; incredible, even. He had questions and he only wished he hadn't been so surprised earlier as to not be able to voice these unsaid questions.

_How are you? What are you doing now?_

_Are you happy?_

Kurt pressed his thumb against the down button between the two elevators and stood patiently in front of the elevator that he knew to be in service. He frowned thoughtfully, however, when he noticed a flash of white to his right as the arrow on the wall signaled that the elevator was coming down, not up. He couldn't imagine who else could be awake at this time of night.

The doors opened with a chime and he sidestepped to peek curiously into the elevator—out of order for as long as he could remember—and what he saw surprised him.

Although, by now, he knew he should have gotten used to being surprised by Dave Karofsky.


End file.
